


Look to the Sky

by Seregwen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Development, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Romance, Slow Burn, a little bit of angst, implied female warden/leliana
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5429330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seregwen/pseuds/Seregwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Starling's encounter with Corypheus during the assault on Haven, she is thrown into The Fade. This short story focuses on the events after the siege and during the journey to Skyhold. Slow Build Lavellan/Solas romance development. Originally completed 12-29. A few extra post-journey chapters added. Complete 7/24/2015. Originally published on fanfiction.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A/N – I am a longtime lurker, first time publisher. I have written a few random short stories and fanfics in the past, but never got the courage to publish. The characters of DA:I have inspired me, so here I am! Suggestions and review are very welcome. I have no one editing these, so I apologize for any spelling or continuity errors. Originally posted on Fanfiction.net. I brought it over here too. There might be a few extremely minor discrepancies between the two.

I very much enjoyed the unofficial break between Act I and Act II of this game, and I felt there was a lot of room to explore the interior feelings of my Dalish Inquisitor and explore her relationships with the rest of The Inquisition members. I was touched by the romance between Solas and my Dalish mage, and I wanted to develop their pre-Skyhold connection. This story began as a planned 5-7 chapter short story of the adventure to Skyhold, and then, as stories do, grew into something more.

**MINOR FIC SPOILER NOTE** – I wrote this story after my first play through, so I had no knowledge of siding with the Templars, and, therefore, did not meet Envy. I did not know there was a demon in the canon story that wanted to possess The Inquisitor! Envy is a different demon than the one that stalks Starling, and does not appear in this story, as Starling sides with Mages.

* * *

 

It was dark; black and cold. Starling's eyes creaked open, then blinked rapidly. Faint shapes revealed a place she had never been. The air around her, a haze; a dusty brown, floating rounded rocks and desiccated tree limbs twisting climbing crawling to the sky. Was she lying down? Was she standing? Her mouth felt dry and metallic.

“Am I dead? ... Did I fail? … Em'ma ha'lam?” She meant to say these words in her head, but they instead escaped her dry and cracking lips. The dust invaded her mouth and she felt a tickle in her throat. She was seized by a coughing fit. How long it lasted, she did not know, but long enough for water to pool in her eyes and slide down freckled cheeks. She spat, a small blob of foamy sienna spittle fell from her mouth in an attempt to expectorate the dirt and whatever else found its way in. Everything felt hollow. Real but not real. Starling squinted to see further, sighing when she saw the familiar outline of blackened towers in the distance.

“Probably not dead,” she said aloud. The possibility of life motivated the young elf as she stretched her short legs in front of her, giving her body a once over. She appeared to have all her parts. The dust began to clear, and now took on the visage of dark smoky fog. Slowly, she stood up, taking in several cautious deep breaths. How had she gotten here? She could not recall. Her mind felt blank, empty, light. She had not been to this part of The Fade, though she couldn't be sure. Her lips relaxed into a small smile. _Maybe I should stay here_ , she thought, relieved to be thinking in her own head instead of aloud. This black abyss was not so bad. The Fade always comforted Starling. It was her second home; one of the few constants in a nomadic Dalish life. No matter where she went, there it was. She began to feel a little warmth, content to stand in this darkness forever.

“There is something I am supposed to remember.” She furrowed black eyebrows and made a motion to run her hand through equally black hair. Her eye caught a flicker of light on her wrist. Alarmed, she drew back her long sleeve to reveal a blackened gash, occasionally glowing a soft green in a pattern of symbols she did not understand. And suddenly, without warning, the memory flooded her mind, images running rampant past her eyes.

_A defenseless keep, the smell of smoke, choking, filling her lungs and blurring her vision, We can't get out! The Templars are coming! Splintered broken doors, the sound of houses betraying their inhabitants. A child screaming, her face covered in blood. A old woman in white robes ushering masses of people into the stone building. An armored warrior with brick-brown hair wielding a mace, thrashing a bloody templar before being cut down, the bones in her arm breaking with a crunch and a scream until she is quiet. The brown eyes of a man looking defeated, saying goodbye. I was too late. A massive winged dragon, stinking of rotten meat, the heat of its breath blowing her hair. Give them time. They just need a little more time! The pale monster of a man with twisted ruby crystals protruding; his jaw a mutilated mess. A chain ripping from a trebuchet. Fire!! Snow!!!! Jump! Falling Falling Falling falling_

The images spun around, exploding all at once in a dizzying spell. She reeled from the memory and felt the bile collecting in the back of her throat. She retched, falling to hands and knees from pain and inertia. She stayed still for a moment, coughing again, praying to the creators for water. None came. “Lovely.” She croaked. The memory, first fresh in her mind, passed along with the dizziness, and Starling stood up, turning away from her own vomit. She had to get out. She had to run.

Her body felt light as she ran, hoping to spy a familiar spot. She knew not for how long or how far. Then, in the distance of the vast and desolate expanse, she spied a bundle on the ground. She slowed to a walk, eyeing the black mass. As she drew closer, it appeared to be person-shaped. She worked her jaw in fear, attempting to calm her mind. “There is nothing to fear in The Fade,” Keeper Deshanna had told her, “So long as you keep a clear head. Trust yourself.” Her teacher's voice calmed her nerves. Cautiously, she approached the bundle. It looked oddly familiar; small, and lying in a fetal position; its back toward her. A woman?

“Hello?” Starling spoke, her voice rougher and higher pitched than intended.

The woman didn't move. _It could be a trap._ _A demon's trap, perhaps?_ Demons, she knew. Of all the things to fear, Starling decided, she did not fear The Fade, nor its inhabitants. Steeling her resolve, she approached the prone body. Bending down, she reached out her arm and gently touched the woman's shoulder, “Are you al-” The body rolled onto its back, dead weight; revealing a face. Starling jumped back, entranced in horror as she looked into her own eyes. Her dead face stared back, indigo-green eyes lifeless, cheeks pale and sunken, skin thin and taut against her skull, sagging around her neck, black hair matted wet, glistening. “What magic is this?” She demanded aloud, instinctively reaching for the staff on her back. The elf exhaled in frustration when she grasped at air instead. She rose to the balls of her feet, perched for flight.

“You are dead, lethellan,” a man's voice; a familiar voice, spoke to her.

“Gailen?” She would know him anywhere. And as if on queue, he appeared. Gailen looked the same as he had when she last saw him four years ago. Blonde hair woven into several braids worn loose at his shoulders. His vallaslin the color of moss. He was smiling at her, a sad smile, his loose brown trousers dragging the ground, toes bare.

“I am sorry to be the one to tell you,” he said; a frown growing on his lips.

“Why are you here? Where is Wytha?” Starling spoke quickly, not bothering to mask the shock of seeing her kin, the man who had run off with her blood-sister.

“We didn't make it, da'len,” he continued. “We were attacked by a band of Shem in the night. Your sister is here, with me.”

Something was wrong. They weren't dead! _They can't be!_ Starling had always thought that Wytha and Gailen were out there, happy somewhere. Living a calm life in a small human village perhaps, or, more likely, traveling the seas as pirates. She cleared her throat, “Where are we?”

“This is just the entrance. Those who die in trauma are sent here first. I don't know why, but, The Creators.. they saved a place for us! Come with me. I will take you. It is a beautiful forest, Ansara! All The People are there!”

He held out his hand. Gailen always viewed himself as her brother, but they were not close. He loved Wytha, Starling's fire-hearted sister, dearly, and when she asked him to leave with her, he obliged. Starling had respected their decision, but it left her lonely and wanting. She wanted to take his hand and be lead; to shrug off the cares of Thedas. Starling reached a trembling hand out to him, but a tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach told her with urgency, _Something is not right_. “I-I can't.” she stuttered, feeling his gaze on her, entranced. Her eyes widened in realization, and she snapped her hand back.

_Ansara_. It was a name she had not heard in- “He never called me Ansara.” The words leaving her lips as she realized what she had almost done. Her bright eyes turned dark; her lip curved into a snarl, “I will not deal with you... whoever you are, unless you reveal your true self!” Her mouth felt even drier, as if it were filled with sand. She hoped her voice sounded convincing. She did not know how much strength she had left. Starling had no staff, but she still had her hands and her wits.

“Clever girl,” The voice mellowed. “I was never very good at Elvhen,” it lamented, and Gailen's muscular form melted and merged, the head sprouting horns, narrow muscled hips curving in form. It now had the body and face of a woman, and its red mouth curved into a playful smirk.

“I know you.” Starling replied, her voice flat but feeling stronger. “You have tried to trick me before... Long ago!”

“Time means nothing here, Ansara, First of Clan Lavellan.” Her voice sensuous and soft.

“I'm almost insulted.” The sneer had not left Starling's face, her round nose was pulled up, as if she were mucking stinking stables instead of speaking to a creature of The Fade. “As if those old tactics would work on me now! And Gailen! Really?!” Starling said, incredulous. She took a breath to chastise the demon further, but stopped, realizing that she did not want to reveal more to this demon. This creature that had almost bested her in a moment of exhaustion and weakness. Almost.

“I know, da'len,” The elven word was rough blasphemy from the creature's lips. The demon pouted, a hand caressing its own bare breast. “You are much too clever for these silly child's games.”

Starling said nothing, but stared at her, unblinking.

“You have a body that I cannot resist, especially now.” The creature glanced down briefly, its purple gaze lingering on Starling's hand. She could feel the demon's impatience and longing. To possess her; a primal need to control; to use this uncharted power that had been gained without intent, without purpose. To take The Mark for itself and run rampant. The creature let out a heavy sigh. “I hate doing it this way. You could just agree. It would be so much easier for both of us,” it lamented. The demon lifted itself, hovering slightly above the ground, assuming a simultaneously nonchalant and threatening combat stance.

Starling's eyes narrowed, and she took a few more steps back. “I'm sorry, old friend.” The tone of her voice conveying anything but contrition. Her heart thudded in her ears. Starling knew she was weak. While conscious, she had fought countless Templars and their shiny bloody monsters. Now, trapped in the fade, after tossing and turning and running, with no weapon... She did not know if she would survive. At least this demon appeared to hold a modicum of respect, honor, or maybe it was just the way it viewed The Fade and Thedas; one large playground with little risk. Starling cast a silent spell. The demon struck first. In the blink of an eye, its arms stretched out, doubling, tripling their length, to latch around Starling's waist, wrapping and squeezing.

”Ar din hara na, harel elgar!” Starling shouted as her prepared spell escaped her fingertips. It was so strong she thought it might rip her skin open. Starling had cast spells in The Fade before, but never with such acute fear for her life. The spell was lightning, spindly and dangerous. Electric tendrils danced on the demon's outstretched arms, releasing its grip. The demon squealed in pain, but then its tattooed face split into a heinous laugh.

Starling snarled as she felt the temperature drop. Ice and snow materialized in the air, pelting and surrounding her in gusts. The elf reached into the pit of her being to conjure something, anything, to counter the spell, but she felt empty. The demon was in its element, here in The Fade, and no matter how many times she had visited, Starling was still a stranger in this realm. She broke into a cold sweat, chanting words to summon fire in hopes to melt the frost. She felt her fingers freeze as the spell fizzled in her fingers. _I will die here, and she will be me._ As the cold wrapped around her, she began to give in. She was so very tired.

Starling, the Dalish so-called Herald of Andraste, defeated in The Fade by a nameless spirit. The laughter of the demon sounded like calm music in her ears, like the lute her sister used to play by the fire. _No, not yet._ She attempted to tuck her legs and roll out of the way, but she was weary, too slow, or the demon was too fast. Her left leg got caught on a dense ice shard the size of a nug, and she tumbled; falling. She was not accustomed to moving like this in The Fade, her home away from home. She landed on her back, the wind knocked out of her for a brief moment. But that is all that the demon needed. Before Starling could flip over, the demon was upon her, ferocious and hot. Its pale pink eyes ablaze with the madness of the hunt. It had been too easy.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Is this my end?_ She did not want to die like this. She did not want to be possessed by a demon to walk Thedas. The Mark would undoubtedly be used to open the veil further, enslaving people to demons; dooming the world. She; or not she, would be a god. The thought turned her bowels to water. “No! I will not!” Starling cried, and out of some strange reflex, she lifted her left arm up toward the sky, palm out. Starling screamed in agony as she felt her wrist burning, a similar sensation to closing a tear in the veil, but with more fury and desperation. She could barely see past the demon, who was clawing at her face and punching her furiously in her stomach, screaming taunts in a language Starling did not understand. Her vision began to darken and the familiar taste of blood assailed her tongue.

At first, neither of them noticed the sickening green light that grew behind the demon, above them both. The spirit halted its assault, its eyes growing soft as it realized its fate. Starling used the hesitation to her advantage. Abruptly, she drove her head up and forward. Her forehead made hard contact with the demon's thin jaw, and the sound of bone and teeth cracking had never sounded so sweet. The demon, who had been kneeling over her, growled in pain, and gasped as its legs began to float up, the force of the rift claiming it. The demon hissed, spit blue blood, and grabbed at her, its clawed fingers slipping, unable to grip. With all her might, Starling pushed the demon off. The demon did not scream as it was pulled up; up into the green. There was a brief flash as the newly opened rift claimed the creature. The only sound that remained was the whispering static of the rift. “Creators.” Starling whispered under her breath. She stared in amazement at the flickering symbols on her wrist, and back up to the tear.

Starling gathered herself, stood up, and took a few steps away from the rift. _Does it go back to my world?_ _Will this take me home? Am I here, or am I there?_ She had thought it impossible, but couldn't rule it out. She took a step toward the pulsing green doorway to examine it, attempting to wipe the wetness from her face.

Behind her, she heard a sound; tiny feet padding on dirt. The rift momentarily forgotten, she whirled around quickly to see a four legged creature standing dangerously close. A wolf, so white it nearly glowed, with slate gray eyes and fur thicker than a lion's mane. It did not move, but stared at her. Starling peered back, tense with anticipation. She had met few animals in The Fade. Some were benign spirits, but most were memories of people long gone, dead or perhaps stuck there, destined to walk in the shadow of the Black City for eternity. Eternity was also the length of time the two seemed to stare at each other, as if time had stopped.

Starling spoke first, still breathless from her encounter with the demon. “I greet you, stranger.” she said. She lowered her head in a brief hello, their eyes still locked together. The wolf made a soft whine in response. Did its tail wag, or did she imagine it? The majestic creature turned abruptly and began to trot away. This was no ordinary spirit. It moved with extreme grace and the hint of subtle power. _Dangerous._ It wants her to follow. Starling looked back at the rift, and made her choice.

Raising her hand as if to flag down a faraway friend, she commanded the keys in her wrist to seal the tear. The symbols formed pulsing chains, reaching and stabbing, making quick work to mend it. Though she had seen it many times before, Starling was always filled with wonder. _How does it work?_ The wolf had stopped, but did not turn around. It did not seem agitated or even curious about the mark or the rift. _It's waiting_ , she realized. She started to walk in the creature's direction, keeping her distance. It lead her on a path she had not seen previously. Perhaps the path hadn't been there. The Fade did not make its secrets known. The environment began to change as they walked, the wolf several lengths ahead of her. Did it understand her hesitance? Did it give her a wide berth on purpose? It came to her; did it expect to find her there? Why wasn't it interested in the tear? She had a thousand questions, but kept quiet. The darkness grew a little brighter as they journeyed, and she began to see patches of grass, and then the occasional tree. She did not turn around to see the desolate wasteland depart, but kept her eyes forward.

She couldn't take it any longer. “Where are we going, stranger?” Starling called out, hoping it was of some use. Never in a million moons would she dream to follow a wolf, of all creatures, in The Fade or in Thedas. If Keeper was right, and the Dalish legends were true, she could be walking into a trap... Into another form of doom. Despite knowing this, she had continued on. The wolf had gotten quite a bit ahead of her in her reverie, and had halted by a large tree. Starling noticed it had lead her to a forest, with trees five times around the size of her qunari friend, The Iron Bull. A small bundle lay at the base of the tree. A person.

“Oh no, not this again,” Starling said, her indigo green eyes narrowing. “A spirit tried this on me once today, stranger!” She called out as she drew near. The wolf pranced a few steps away, maintaining a safe distance from the blanketed figure.

She approached the bundle on the ground, “Why in the Creators' names am I doing this?” she whispered aloud. She gazed at the body, expecting the worst. It was her own body again, but this time, it was different. She was not afraid. She saw herself, eyes closed. Her staff was propped against the large tree, and she was swaddled in a bed roll, a pillow behind her head. She looked comfortable, and peaceful. Starling felt a tingling sensation as her muscles relaxed, she could almost hear them rejoicing after being tight and tense for so long. Starling felt the tears welling in her eyes. She choked them back, “I am alive!” she exclaimed, her voice cracking under the strain, tears flowing freely now. She could feel the wetness on her cheeks, and see them falling from behind the closed eyes of her resting form.

Her gaze, cloudy with tears, turned to the wolf. The canine wagged its tail and gave a soft whine. It approached her body, slowly, almost with great care, and laid down on its stomach, pressing its black nose into her folded hands. She felt it on her own hands. “This is very weird!” She burst out laughing, an incredibly sonorous guffaw, mingled with sniffling and tears; emotions running rampant. The wolf stood up, and then laid down again, this time pressing its massive furry back against her sleeping form. It did this multiple times, standing up and lying down, and then it backed away from her, cocking its head expectantly.

“What?” She gasped for air and took several breaths to calm down. “Am I to....” Starling stammered, then realized what the wolf was telling her. “Yes! I … I need to-”

_Wake up._ Starling lurched up with a start. It was cold and dark. The air was dank, and she felt a dull pain in her right arm. A real pain. _Am I here?_ She wiped her face. It tasted salty. She had been crying, she remembered. Crying in The Fade. Starling pushed herself to a sitting position. She was not in a beautiful forest, where the white wolf had brought her. Instead, she was underground, an abandoned mine shaft? _I fell._ A hard dirt floor was her bedroll, and next to her were several giant boulders. She was lucky she had missed those when she landed. The pain in her arm began to radiate up her shoulder. “Well, that's broken.” she murmured out loud, wincing when she tried to stabilize it with her free hand. She left it to hang uselessly at her side as she climbed to her feet. Her staff had miraculously landed a few meters from where her body lay, and was intact. Her stomach growled, a reminder or a warning that she had been out for a while, but not long enough to be in danger... yet... Starling took her staff in her left hand, whispered a word, and it lit like a torch. Using it as a walking stick, the elf started in the only direction she could, forward.

Starling was not a very religious Dalish. She wasn't sure if the gods existed, as she had been told. It was her responsibility to remember and teach, not to believe. She didn't know how long she trudged through the tunnel, and when she saw shafts of light signaling the exit, she thanked the Creators, just in case.

The tunnel let out in the valley. She could see the ruins of Haven, the smell of wood and burnt corpses still lingered in the air. She didn't see any Templars, or any other living creature for that matter. She must have been out for longer than she thought, or the Templars must still be very close. Her eyes traced the ridges of the nearby mountains, but she saw no threat. At that moment, a fierce gust nearly blew the staff out of her hand. The wind howled, signaling the beginning of a snowstorm. She couldn't stay here. Starling heard the wind howl again, its fierceness blowing her hair and her long tipped ears. It took her a moment to realize it wasn't the wind. It was wolves.

The feeling in her gut twitched, and she struck out into the snow, following what she thought was the direction of the sound. She rounded a short hill, and came upon a broken cart. Remnants of the Inquisition; survivors from Haven. The snow began to fall, fat flakes tumbling in the wind, landing in her eyelashes and making homes on her cheekbones before melting away. A child's doll was nearly buried by the snow, wedged under the cart wheel. Without thinking, the shivering elf propped her staff against the wagon and pulled the doll free from its frozen grave. She shoved it into a spare pocket in her robes. The survivors must have gone this way. Starling followed what she thought to be the trail. The snow was falling heavily now, her meager shoes soaked through as the snow crept up to her shins. A hard crust had formed on top, causing the ice to cut painfully into her legs with every step. Soon she wouldn't be able to feel it; a small blessing. She huddled her robes around her best she could, broken arm still dangling, the lumpy doll nestling against her abdomen.

Keep on. Keep going. One foot in front of the other. The crunching of the snow and the whisper of the wind were her only friends now. The plaintive cry of the wolves sounded again. Three friends, perhaps. Was it more intense? Closer? She had no way of knowing. Every so often she would see something, another wagon... a broken fence post... These small remnants of her people drove her forward. She knew not how long she pressed against the snow, a tireless ant against a titan. There was no question who would win this battle. The sky was gray, with no evidence of the location of the sun, but Starling had an inkling that daylight was soon to disappear. Her teeth chattered. She felt not her face, nor her legs, nor the useless arm swinging at her side.

Keep going, da'len.

Keep going...

Keep going...

Keep...

“AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The sound jolted her, red eyes snapping open. “Stay awake, Starling!” her inner voice demanded. She hadn't gotten this far to turn into an elfcicle. The sound of laughter escaped her lips. “Elfcicle!” she shouted, laughing hysterically. She nearly doubled over, as if it were the funniest thing she had ever heard. The grin froze on her face, and her eyes widened in a crazed euphoria. She could feel her body warming as her legs began to tingle. The heat coursed through her body, as if she were on fire. _Why is it so dark out here?_ Her brain wandered and wondered and she felt herself floating away... up into the soft gray clouds to dance with the gods of snow. Were there snow gods? She couldn't remember. A voice called her from faraway, melodic and plaintive.

“Herald! Lethal'lan!!” Was she lying down again? The ground felt soft. A pair of strong arms lifted her into a cradle. She heard the voice shouting words and nonsense. Why did he sound so far away? _I'm not on the ground anymore._

“You pick me up...” She whispered, her voice a breathless croak. Her lips were stiff, immobile. They were moving quickly, flying over the snow.

A pair of eyes, laced with worry, were they silver? Maybe blue? No, they were like lilacs on spring trees. She knew them. “Shhh, Lethal'lan, rest. You have found us.” The voice was soothing.

“What color?” she murmured, then, “You pick me up...” she continued, a lazy smile forming on her frozen mouth, “as if I weighed no more than a dried leaf.” She lifted her hand to touch his face. _Is he real? Why wouldn't it go?_ Her world went white.

“No leaves, emm'asha,” Solas replied, “Only Starling.”


	3. 3

A tiny blue bird trilled a call from somewhere above the hastily launched medical tent. The breeze that tickled her nose was frosty, but she was warm, wrapped in heavy blankets. Starling felt her eyes begin to flutter and snap open. She sat up abruptly, breath ragged, eyes rapidly scanning her surroundings. She tried to stand, to adjust herself, and noticed that her right arm had been bound in a sling against her chest. She felt her heart begin to calm. _This is your new home_ , she reminded herself as her eyes fell upon a familiar symbol; A longsword driven through an eye in the sunburst of The Chant. _You're not in the fade. You're not at Haven. You are home._ They had found her, but she had no ability to measure how long she had been back. Every time she awoke from fitful sleep, it was the same; her heart fluttering like a hummingbird, palms and feet sweating. The anxiety of not knowing where she was took command of her body. Was she in The Fade? Had a demon corrupted her heart? Did the bloody templars find her? _Am I alive?_ Adan, her curmudgeonly yet gentle caretaker had suggested decorating the interior of her temporary abode with a flag of the Inquisition. A kind reminder. _I am safe._ The irony of a human religious symbol as comfort was not lost on her.

Outside, she heard the familiar sounds of a camp; chickens clucking, fires crackling, the sounds of laborers fixing broken things, but the best was the sounds of speech. Familiar voices talking; though the tone was grim and argumentative. She heard Commander Cullen, the drawn but gentle warrior, his voice plaintive, trying to convince the others. She reclined on her cot. Starling felt as if she had been holding her breath for years. A breath that contained it all; loss, life, mistakes, things unsaid. She let it go, feeling a strange pressure in her ribs release.

She did not want to think about Corypheus, the strange darkness of the fade, the blood; so much blood. Images that drilled into closed eyelids and broke her into sweats and shivers. It didn't take much to trigger a nightmare, though she had convinced herself they were coming fewer and fewer. Many people came to visit the elf in her recovery. She wanted to see them all, to touch them, to hear the sounds of their voices, and listen to their stories, but she was exhausted. Marydale, with her clear voice and open heart, sang part of a new song to her. Starling, The Herald of Andraste, flew home. Starling mostly blushed, simultaneously embarrassed and pleased.

She had been rescued by the people she swore to protect. A new family; a new clan, perhaps? She had finally slept, emerging from her tent only to be tossed back in with a bowl of soup (surprisingly tasty!) and restorative potions (unsurprisingly disgusting.) “I am fine, really,” she would respond to the lucky person chosen for Starling-duty. She suspected they were drawing straws, or losing at Wicked Grace.

“Yes, you are very pretty, Starling, your delicate elven features captivate all of Thedas,” Dorian mocked her with flourish. “But your legs are not, and they will not get you far.” He smiled, handsome as ever, placing a bowl of warm stew in her hands and a small bottled potion on a crate-turned bedside table. He sat with her for a while, telling her tales of Tevinter and making sure she took the healing draught.

Sera had practically pushed her back onto the bed. Her bedside manner the same as a nurse counting the days to retirement. “Don be stupid!” she barked incredulously, “eat this, it may taste like shit, but it'll fix you, so they say anyway. An don't even try to stand up again, or Commander Boringbutt will prolly come in here and read to you or somefin.” Sera threatened to pour the medicine down Starling's throat, and refused to leave until she saw her take it. “Elf medicine. Fucking weird,” she said. The blonde and wily elf stayed with her for a bit, but Starling could tell that her friend did not like seeing her small and cloistered.

“No no, my dear.” How Vivienne had made a soft voice so commanding was beyond her. “Lie down, for you are still resting.” Starling went to protest, but the Orlesian mage produced a small mirror and thrust it into her face. Starling's usually lively eyes were sunken, dark rings; her freckled face, pale and covered with red bumps and angry red craters. “The ice bite has left its toll on your skin. Let's hope it clears up completely, darling.” Vivienne said and her dark eyes shone with concern. Now that Starling was no longer in mortal danger, her friend was occupied by an equally terrible fate, ugliness. Starling, who could not bear for Madame du Fer to think she cared about her own appearance, feigned a chuckle and shook her head, drawing a spoonful of soup to her dry but improving lips. Vivienne left her the mirror. Starling did not complain any more that day.

Someone had placed the fabric doll she rescued from Haven's destruction next to her bed. Closing her eyes brought the image of the dead child to the front of her mind; one of many who had died due to her recklessness. At first, The Inquisition had been somewhat of a lark. The Mark on her hand; sexy, mysterious. An elf, first bound in chains; proved her own innocence, and transformed into a hero! It was the stuff of legends. She could elevate The Dalish! She could change everything. Starling had tried to prevent blood shed in her name, but she had detached herself. She justified deaths as necessary casualties, or she pretended they hadn't happened at all; a fantasy world. _You stupid girl._ _You didn't even know the kid's name_ , her brain chastised. She touched the doll's charred arm with a finger. The fabric crumbled, revealing soft feather stuffing. _I can stitch you back together_. Sleep was out of the question, but being awake caused fidgeting frustration. The more days that passed, the more restive Starling became. Lying alone, stuck with her thoughts; her tent grew more and more unbearable.

The elf had propped herself up in a chair when when Blackwall called from the outside. “Herald, might I come in?” he said; his gravelly voice rough against her ears, thought not in an unpleasant way. She responded in the affirmative. The tent flap opened, momentarily blinding the interior with snowy daylight, and the massive human entered, much quieter than she thought he would be. His face broke into a gigantic smile.

“You are, indeed, alive!” His endless blue eyes were wide in surprise and disbelief. Starling closed the book she had been reading, or trying to read, and looked up at him. Their eyes met, and Starling recalled the last time she saw him.

_Blackwall. Warrior. Warden. He was in the center of three templars. Sword arm cutting them down. Shield poised. Those same endless eyes wide with fear, searching for her._

“We never stopped looking for you, Starling.” His voice softer now, tremulous, interrupting her bad memory. “I'll never forget the day I saw him carrying you in his arms. You looked like a little child, so small. You looked--- Your eyes...they wouldn't open.” He rambled at a surprising and uncharacteristic speed. His eyes shone. “They wouldn't open!” he repeated, and then cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Herald,” his voice firm again. She stood up, placing the book onto the floor.

“They are open now, Lethallin.” She reached over with her left hand and took his lightly, slightly taken aback by his outburst. “I didn't mean to frighten you,” she said, softly.

He gasped, laughing, and pulled her in for a hug. “Of course that's what you'd say! Little freckled bird, always worrying about me, your friends, even the little nugs on the ground get your attention!” he said. He hugged her tightly, slightly crushing her injured arm. She didn't care. He smelled good, like wet leaves and smoke and snow. She'd never met a human that smelled so much like the Dalish. She had noticed it when they first met. As if he were a long lost giant of a brother with round ears. She never had a brother. But she did now. He released her; a small sniff; a large hand wiped his eye.

“Now that we are done with the emotional part,” she said, grinning, “are you here to break me out, Blackwall?” Her tone was light, though she spoke only half in jest.

He smiled again at her, eyes still shining. “If only I could. Solas'd have my head, and he'd only be first in line,” he said. He tilted his head as he spoke, and his normally reserved countenance still gave way to a small smile.

Solas. She'd dreamed he'd- No. Not possible. “So, he is my gaoler?” she asked, lowering herself onto her cot. Starling motioned for him to sit in the chair beside her. She thought the smile upon her lips continued, seeming easy, but something in her eyes must have betrayed her.

Blackwall complied, and sat. “He was by your side all that first day, when you would not wake up. I don't think Adan had the stones to tell him to leave. And if he does... well,” Blackwall exhaled, a quick hissing sound. He noticed the book on the floor that Starling had left there. He picked it up and placed it in his lap. “You know what he is like.” The man rubbed the back of his neck. He did not want to talk of this. The mysterious elf apostate was the only subject upon which they disagreed. The Grey Warden did not trust Solas, but he made it clear that he trusted Starling, and that was that.

“He has not come to see me since I awoke.” Starling spoke plainly. She was not the type to over share her emotions, but something about her absent friend was troubling her. Her large eyes studied Blackwall, in hopes of gaining some kind of answer.

“Once you were out of danger,” the warden continued, “he set up a spot on the furthest edge of camp. I think he's been doing magic there. He takes his meals alone, or with Dorian sometimes...”

The other responded with a soft, “Oh.” Starling wrinkled her forehead, confused at her own emotions. “I am grateful for what he, for what everyone, has done for me,” she stated in her usual polite manner.

Blackwall rose from his seat, handing over her book. It looked small in his large calloused hands. When they first met, she wondered what those hands might feel like on her skin. Now, she found the comfort of a brother's protection, and she would not trade it for the world.

“I must let you rest,” he said. Starling made a squeak to protest. She didn't want to be alone. He would have none of it. “I'll bring by some cards later, I promise. And, I'll bring Varric... with Cassandra.”

“Both of them? Together!?” Starling said, chuckling. “I already sealed the breach, Blackwall. We don't need to open a new one!”

He grinned, humoring her; his white teeth large and shining. “You could use a little entertainment,” he added. “I am glad you are in good spirits...” Blackwall paused, as if considering his next statement carefully. “It's different at night though, isn't it?” His face darkened in sympathy, knowing that she would never want to burden him with her struggles. He had slept close by and many of them heard their Herald cry out in her sleep.

Starling nodded, stiffly, the tension flowing into her neck. Her eyes drew down, and she stared at her hands. “Just some nightmares,” she said, her voice no louder than a whisper. She looked back up at Blackwall. “Do you get them?”

“The first time I saw battle, I couldn't have been more than twenty. Younger than you, I'd wager. I saw things...” He trailed off. “Didn't sleep much after. I want to tell you it gets easier, but … Some days are better than others.” He swallowed loudly.

Starling's own mouth went dry. “I see … Children, a child.” Starling swallowed in turn; she could feel the knot forming in her throat. “It's...” She didn't continue. She shook her head, her eyes focusing on her hands again.

Blackwall reached over and touched her shoulder, his large hand covering it completely. “So do I,” he responded, his voice low.

She nodded, a small weight lifting from her chest. The heaviness would be there, but the confession helped. She was not alone. She looked up at him again, returning his gaze. “Thank you, Blackwall.”

“Don't thank me yet,” Blackwall said. He patted himself down, searching his pockets. “I almost forgot.” He pulled out a small bottle. Another draught of healing. Starling groaned and fell back onto the cot, her good arm flailing back in defeat. “Bottoms up. To better days,” he said, somewhat cheekily. He placed the potion onto the crate next to the cot.

She feigned a pout but couldn't hold it for long. He turned to go, but stopped at the doorway, keeping his back to her.

“He cares for you, little bird. He might not admit it, but he does.”

“How-how do you know?” she asked. A strange sensation grew in the pit of her stomach. She felt silly for asking.

Blackwall didn't give an answer. “Get some rest, my lady,” he responded. The tent was blasted with light again as he opened the flap. He stepped out into the daylight, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

* * *

 

He didn't tell her how loudly the elven man had screamed when they saw her fall. Blackwall didn't know the language, but there was no need. The howl of a man's heartbreak is always the same. He didn't tell her how it had taken three of them to keep him from climbing down after her. He didn't tell her that as the days went by with no sign, and the Inquisition's leaders reluctantly began to plan their next move, Solas argued tirelessly that she would be found; that she was alive. He didn't tell her that as the morale of the Inquisition sank, Solas kept an unwavering and tireless vigil. He didn't tell her that when Solas had carried her back to camp, triumphant, Blackwall had seen the elf smile for the first time.


	4. 4

After Blackwall's departure, Starling returned to her book. Cassandra found it among random items they managed to get out of Haven. It was well worn and looked loved, filled with dog eared pages. Starling's mind wandered to the fate of its owner. Were they still alive, or had they perished at Haven? She shuddered, hoping they were not on the pyre left behind. And if they were, she hoped for a quick death. Starling had attempted to read this novel, and she discovered that romance was not her style. It was filled with bosoms; heaving bosoms, full bosoms, teats of all kinds. The thought of some unnamed stranger enjoying this book warmed her heart and made her laugh.

Suddenly, there were sounds outside her tent; a conversation. Starling honed on the voices, attempting to discern their owners. A man... Blackwall. _He's still outside?_ She rubbed her forehead, wincing when her fingers brushed a rough and red pockmark. _I might look cute with bangs,_ she thought idly. A second voice; rich and melodic, with an accent at once familiar and altogether foreign. Solas.

Starling whispered a curse in elven, her hands immediately jumping to touch her face, the book, forgotten, slid to the floor. Starling grabbed the mirror Vivienne had lent her. A sallow face returned her gaze, red marks still roaring havoc on her cheeks and forehead. There was a cut on her chin that would most likely scar.  _He has seen me at my worst, twice now_ . Starling groaned, turning her head to get a good look at her jawline, silently wishing Vivienne had given her a fancy Orlesian salve to accompany the punishment of the mirror.

Starling ran her fingers through her unkempt, oily, bedridden hair and hopped up to grab the book from the floor. She sat back down in the chair, propping the novel on her lap and tried to read it again.  _What in the abyss is wrong with me?_ Starling had been told that Solas found her in the snow, blue and frozen. He sped her back to camp, nursed her back to health, and yet he hadn't come to see her.  _Why?_ Everyone she knew, and half the camp didn't, had come. They'd played games, and she'd received their praises, and praised them in return. Adan had to chase Varric, Josie, and Krem out several times. She didn't understand why this aggravated her so.  _Surely he has many duties to attend_ .  _He saved me. That should be enough._ She had felt close to Solas before the assault on Haven. They spent many evenings next to a campfire, drinking Antivan brandy and discussing history, magic, and his favorite subject, The Fade. Solas and Starling debated intensely about the Dalish, the former looking down his prideful nose at her people; the latter getting defensive and sharp. He taught her magical secrets, and she taught him to be more accepting. It was under her guidance, or at least she'd like to believe, that he became friendly, or at least more tolerant, of her diverse group of comrades. Sometimes she would catch him chatting with Varric, or helping Blackwall organize his Grey Warden collection. She thought he saw reality in a very different way than everyone else. It excited her. They had almost kissed once, at least, she thought so. Starling's cheeks turned even redder with the memory.

The First of Clan Lavellan was no stranger to physical intimacy. She'd had dalliances in the past, mostly at clanmeets. She'd even romped with a human once, but nothing remotely serious. There was always an excuse.  _I'm too immature, or no one in the clan is interested in me. or I'm not interested in them, or I really should focus on my story-telling; or His breath smells like wild onions; or I don't need any of that stuff; I have a lovely sister, a clan I adore, and a position that satisfies me, or She didn't kiss me the right way or I'm very tired and I would like to get some rest._ Her sister, Wytha, a woman with a bleeding heart, was always occupied with romantic entanglements. Among the few with whom Starling made a connection, they'd broken mutually, due to distance, or some other mundane reason. The truth was, being The First of the Clan had not really allowed for it.  _That's another excuse_ . Starling frowned. She hated when her own brain argued with her. The real truth: Affairs of the heart had never been a priority, because she was afraid of them. They could not be measured, learned, counted, or taught. They could not be thrown away if they displeased her. But then she got caught up in this struggle she didn't understand, and she met a man who changed her world. She was a grown woman, and here she was; fretting and blushing like a little girl. So lost was she in her thoughts that she nearly didn't notice the tent flap open.

The bright light blinded her again, and she nearly dropped her book, this time out of nervousness. The thoughts were too close to the surface. Pushing them down, she cleared her throat. “It took you long enough...” she said, a huge smile split her face.

“I'm sorry, Herald,” came a sarcastic reply. “I forgot you were the only one who needed medical attention in this camp. I will endeavor to get here earlier,” Adan quipped, his voice dry. Her eyes adjusted to the light, and she saw the brown haired human standing in the doorway.

Starling's eyes fell in disappointment, but she had no choice but to play along now. “Good. Being poked and prodded by you is becoming my favorite past-time. Perhaps you brought me another one of your delicious concoctions?” She smiled, slightly, still adjusting to the fact that it was Adan who arrived to visit her, and not Solas.

Adan grumbled a response. “It's not time yet. And I see you didn't take the one I sent along with the Grey Warden.” He eyed the potion and then stared at her, accusingly. Starling groaned in response. She had forgotten all about it. Aside from tasting awful, she knew it would make her sleep. She was sick of sleeping.

“Very well, hand it over, _doctor_.” Starling took the medicine and settled in for an afternoon nap. Maybe she was feeling tired, after all. Adan gave her a brief check, saying he wanted to look at her arm tomorrow, and informed her that she would be able to leave her tent, “depending on your condition, of course,” he said, that last part reminding her that it was not a promise. His voice droned on until Starling couldn't understand him anymore. She was out cold before he left.

Several of her friends came by that evening. Friend was an unusual word to her. She hadn't thought to make any among The Inquisition, based on her first impression. As time passed, she grew to trust and love them all. After the attack on Haven, they could have left her for dead. They had all the reason in the world to do so; But they didn't. They were all survivors of the elder one's brutal invasion, and it had changed them all somehow. Everyone seemed freer with their emotions. There was a kind of energy around her comrades that she hadn't noticed before, but she couldn't quite place. There wasn't enough room inside her tent, so a table was set, half-in, half-out, with both tent flaps pulled back, revealing the night air. This worked out nicely, because The Iron Bull couldn't fit inside anyway.

They played Wicked Grace, and most of them partook in a strong drink that The Chargers had supplied. They probably distilled it themselves, and Starling did not ask for the recipe. During one of the rounds, Varric handed Starling a small metal tin.

“It's supposed to heal that mug of yours,” Varric said with a smirk.

“No medicine in the world for that,” The Iron Bull quipped in response, setting some coin down on the table with his huge lumbering hands.

“You're lucky she's under doctor's orders to not burn those poofy pants right off you, qunari,” Varric responded, earning a quick chuckle from the table. Even Cassandra smiled, and she was seated as far away from Varric as possible, as was her custom. Starling mouthed a “thank you” across the table as she pocketed the salve, and Varric took a quick swig from his flask. He dropped his cards face up on the table. “Triple daggers, who's the lucky winner?” Cullen and Starling both grumbled in unison and threw their cards on the table. The Iron Bull folded, but Sera laughed like a gaggle of hyenas, “Straight Serpents! Pay up, pay up!” Blackwall frowned, “I shoulda never reraised,” he said, as he pushed his face-down cards to Josephine.

The group played for several hours that evening, until Adan came, and the fun was over. Starling was back in her tent, alone. The sun had set a few hours ago, but the energy of Wicked Grace still ran through her veins. That nip of whiskey that Cassandra had shared under the table wasn't helping either. She paced around the small area of her tent, three steps up, three steps down. She couldn't take it anymore.

“I'm going out.” she said, aloud, to no one. “Who's going to stop me, really? I'm the creators-damned Herald of Andraste!” she exclaimed. She knew it was getting desperate if she was talking aloud to herself. She had to get out of here. Starling eyed the hot water bucket that Nissa, one of the servants, delivered to her tent. It was decided.

After sponging herself off, grateful for anything to clean her skin, she donned a thick cloak with a hood that hopefully hid enough of her distinctly tattooed face, and boots that had been left for her. She noticed as she dressed that her knees looked particularly knobby and a few ribs poked out. Her ankle was still red and swollen from the fall. She would have to be careful with it. Starling hoped she looked somewhat inconspicuous. She pushed aside the tent flap with her left hand and peered out. A guard was stationed there, her back to the tent. _Great_ , she thought. Starling ducked back inside quickly. So much for going out the front. No matter, she was Dalish, and even the Clan's First knew how to escape an aravel in silence. The cloth walls of some human tent could not keep her in. She managed to untie the bottom corner of the tent behind her bed, and with very little work, she was free! She escaped onto a main thoroughfare of the camp. There were a few people milling about, but it was mostly quiet.

The sky had never looked so beautiful. It was a clear night, and every star sparkled.  _Hello, Starling. It is so good to see you again_ , she imagined they said. She greeted them in turn. The elf walked slowly, taking in the layout of the camp and wondered on the location of the cantina. Her stomach rumbled, reacting to the taste of the crisp night air. A few passersby eyed her, nodding their heads in friendly greeting, but no one told her to go back inside her tent, or seemed to recognize her. After some exploring, she found the kitchen tent. Housed in the center of camp, the tent's walls and doors had painted letters written in different hands, spelling out the word “Food” in several different languages. She opened the flap to go inside.

As her hand gripped the fabric, she collided directly into someone heading out. Her hand brushed against another cloak, and an awkward “Oh!” was shared between them. She backed away, adjusting her hood. She looked up to apologize, and found herself staring directly at Solas.

“Starling... Herald, I mean.” He spoke to her, and if he was startled, he hardly showed it. His lips curved up into a small smile, his clear eyes examining her, “You look just like the cat who caught the canary.”

She felt her cheeks redden, but somehow managed to find her voice. “Guilty,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “I have escaped your prison, lethallin. No jail can keep me.”

“I pity the man who tries,” he replied, his smile turning wry. He stepped out of the doorway, pulling a long coat around him as he did so. He carried a cloth-wrapped parcel in one hand. “What a grand coincidence, for I was on my way to your sick bed.” He pulled back the cloth to reveal a bottle. It was not a potion.

“I was under the impression that I was not to drink in my quarantine,” Starling responded, feigning innocence. Solas chuckled, his eyes teasing.

“I guess we'll have to find a spot away from prying eyes.” He was in a good mood tonight. The apostate held his arm out to her, the lingering smile still caressed his lips. She took it.

They strolled arm in arm through the camp. Followers of The Inquisition were settling down for the night. Soldiers huddled around campfires, men and women moved in and out of their tents; a small child ran playfully from its father. There were scouts and guards in relaxed duty on makeshift outposts.  _The Inquisition has quite a mobile village_ . Starling was proud of them, and very impressed.

“They are here for you, Starling. Do not find it so hard to believe,” Solas said. Her lips formed a closed mouthed smile, humbled by it all. Then her smile turned to worry, and she chewed on the inside of her lip. She felt his free hand stroke the one she had stowed in the crook of his arm. They exchanged a glance that made her blush and turn away, and they continued their walk.

“Where are we going, Solas?” she asked as the clusters of people and their fires and their tents grew sparse. He just smiled and shook his head gently. He really was in rare form this evening. Starling had never seen him so consistently happy before. He was not immune to humor, of course, in fact it was his saucy charm that initially drew her to him. Tonight, he was... different.

He lead her up a shallow hill, again going much slower than he would if he were alone, or if she were back to her normal strength. The hill looked over the makeshift village, and at the top, she spied a fire pit. Two mugs, two small plates, and a basket sat atop a short log. The log had been placed next to a strange looking urn. It was metal made of ornate lattice scrollwork. It looked very old. He lead her to the log. She didn't want to sit at first, but then realized she was slightly out of breath.

“I yearned to speak with you under the moonlight,” he said, his voice rhythmic. She stayed remarkably still, stunned to silence. _What is he saying?_ He knelt down in front of the strange urn, his knees pressing into the snow. He waved a hand; a delicate gesture, and a blue fire sprouted from the center of the urn, giving off a warm and splendid light. “A piece of a forgotten song a spirit sang to me. There is no moon tonight. I hope you can forgive it.” _Always._ He turned to her, his knees nearly parallel to the log. “Is it true that the Dalish say and do things of importance under the sky?”

Starling pushed back her hood. They were far enough from the main camp now. “Yes, that is true. Anything worth doing should be done under the blue, Aneth ara,” Starling said, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. He returned it with a smirk of his own, but the mirth quickly died behind his eyes. His lean fingers opened the cloth parcel next to her, and he produced the bottle from beneath his cloak. “What is all this now?” Starling asked, her voice filled with surprise. “Is this for me?”

“This is all for you, lethallan.” he replied. The cloth over the basket was lifted to reveal a flat loaf of bread and a small wheel of cheese.

“Cheese?!” Starling gasped with extreme delight. She covered her mouth, embarrassed at her outburst and also concerned she might alert the rest of the camp to the fact that she was not in her tent. “How did you come by this?!” she asked, knowing full well he would not tell her. Cheese was a rare food among the Dalish. They made their own Halla cheese; bland curds and whey usually eaten for breaking a fast. It was not bad, but the really good stuff came when they found friendly humans with whom to trade. Her time with The Inquisition had spoiled her. If Andraste had invented cheese, Starling might become a believer. She had said so much to her friend Varric. He, in turn, threatened the nickname Milk Maid upon her. She considered herself lucky that he stuck with Freckle.

Solas uncorked the bottle and poured her a drink, his hands brushing hers lightly as he handed it over. She could feel the energy there; her own fingers humming at this brief touch. “It is your favorite,” he replied, his voice low. The bread was not too hard, and the cheese was divine. This felt good. It felt like before, but there was something more. They exchanged glances, as if they both shared a secret.

“I am told I have you to thank for pulling my body out of a snowdrift,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. It was stronger than she had anticipated and it burned her throat.

He smiled and swallowed the last of the bread from his plate. He took a sip in turn from his mug. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he said at last. She felt the brandy warming her chest, her extremities tingling. “I heard you from The Fade. I saw you, your light was,” Solas paused, momentarily, as if the word was just out of his reach. “evanescing,” he said at last.

“I thought you only saw the past,” Starling replied, trying to get the image of her death as far from her mind as possible. She did not want to think of her last journey through The Veil.

“The Fade can show a thing or two to those who want to see.” He responded, cryptically as always, his soft voice danced lyrically in enchanting cadence. Speaking to him was akin to solving a puzzle. Starling had to will herself to stop staring at his mouth. She found looking in his eyes to be nearly as difficult. _I missed him_ , she realized.

Starling smiled and took another sip of the brandy. “Well, thank you, for everything,” she said softly. She hoped she sounded sincere, but not desperate. She set the cup down between them, and reached out, taking his hand in hers. They sat for a moment. The sounds of the wind brushed the needles of a nearby tree and the eternal whisper of veilfire serenaded them both.

Solas moved his hand away, his brows forming straight lines above his brilliant eyes in sadness, or worry, perhaps. “I must tell you something.” He stretched out his legs and lifted his lanky frame, pacing for a bit near the fire. His shoes crunched in the snow. “The orb Corypheus carried, the power he used against you,” he stopped pacing and held his hands over the fire. He looked into her eyes, and continued, “It is Elven.” There was something about his tone that struck her as odd. It was as if he offered her an apology when none was due. He continued on, explaining to her that this artifact, and others like it, channeled old magic long lost to their people. He was concerned that once humans discovered this, they would turn against her, and him as well.

Starling felt her face get hot. Was it the liquor or was it anger? “They could never betray me! After all they have done! After all I have done!” she exclaimed. Her voice felt hoarse and came out shaky. “They are my friends, Solas!” Both, she decided. It was both.

“Martyrs are easily drawn, emm'asha.” he said quietly. “Forgive me. I did not mean to cause you pain. This is not a threat, but my fear of things to come.” He bent down and brushed a stray hair out of her face. His fingers were cool on her skin. Despite her momentary anger, she felt electricity in his touch. She wanted to embrace him, to bury her nose in his skin and whisper to him that it would be alright. “There is something else I wish to say,” he added. It was then that he told her of a place he knew from The Fade. A place to lead these people; a majestic keep high in the mountains. Her brain spun, and she felt desperately tired again as she was reminded that their journey was far from over. Part of her would rather stay here forever, eating cheese and drinking brandy by veilfire. Starling knew that her advisers had been arguing over their next move since before she had even awoken. And now Solas provided the solution. She stood up.

“An answer,” she said, her voice sounding far off to her own ears. Her body had felt tired, but now was brimming with excitement. A plan. It had been all she needed. She didn't know how she would ever repay him.

“Come, Lethallin,” she said, offering her arm. “Let us go tell the others.”

As the two elves hiked back down the hill, they were both surprised to see the camp was alive again. It was well into the night, yet people were moving, torches alive with hubbub. As they drew nearer to the first watch post, a scout shouted in alarm, “She is here! The Herald is here!” Starling had forgotten to put her hood back up, though she wasn't sure if it would matter, now that they were looking. A small cluster of people of all sorts; soldiers, scouts, workers, even a child, started toward them both. Looks of urgency crossed their faces. Starling felt a brief twinge of fear, a memory from when shemlen crowds armed with torches meant nothing but danger. Solas squeezed her arm and then released his grip. He felt it too.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Starling recognized some of them, but none she knew by name. She mentally put on her Herald hat.

“What is the meaning of this, my friends?” she demanded as they drew close. Friends. _They are my friends_. She had addressed them as such to remind them as much as herself. Their leader responded. She was a young brown-skinned human girl, who couldn't have been a day over sixteen.

“They need you right away, Madame Herald,” the girl bowed, her subtle accent and mannerisms revealing her Orlesian heritage. Starling wasted no time, falling into quick steps next to her, allowing the young girl to guide them. Solas stayed close behind, his violet eyes wary. Starling was breathing hard, and her ankle started to protest every step, but she would not let them see. “The people... They are...” The girl continued as they advanced through the camp. Her voice trailed off, choosing her words carefully. “You were missing. My lady Leliana was setting up a search party, but word got out. There is a group, a small group that thought you might have...” She trailed off again.

“They thought their leader abandoned them,” Solas filled in where the girl could not. Starling didn't need to look at him to know that he was thinking, 'I told you so.'

They managed to pick up quite a crowd behind them, all following The Herald to the center of camp. Cassandra was the first to see them approach the main tent. “Thank The Maker,” she whispered as she headed out to meet them. Despite Cassandra's relief that the Herald was unharmed, the lines between her eyebrows indicated anger. Starling knew she had the right to be. Cassandra eyed the crowd warily, her brown eyes flashing. Even more gathered now, and someone yelled, “The Herald is safe! She is with us!” and another, “She wouldn't leave us!” A voice in the crowd then responded, “but will that feed our bellies?” “Or keep us warm at night?” another chimed in. The group began to grow agitated, talking among themselves and arguing. Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine arrived. They tried to calm the crowd in vain.

“What are we to do, Seeker?” an elderly man, skin so wrinkly it was almost translucent, touched Cassandra's arm as he spoke.

“We will share our plan soon,” Cassandra responded, pulling Starling toward her and away from the gathering mass. “Please trust us. We will not allow harm to come to you. The Herald is safe, and she needs her rest. Let us all go to bed,” she said, her voice clear and loud for all to hear. Cassandra had the type of voice that could make a stampeding druffalo halt in its tracks. But tonight, the people weren't stopping.

“We've been here for near a week!” someone cried, “My son will starve soon!” another called. This was getting bad, and the crowd was growing. More and more were leaving their tents and joining the disorganized mob. _Have we asked too much?_ Starling saw Leliana sending signals to her scouts, and she spotted Krem coordinating Bull's Chargers. Josephine's eyes were wide, and Cullen's arm was dangerously near the hilt of his sword. The scent of sweat and smoke tickled Starling's nose. They were frightened, and they didn't know what to do. She had seen the results of scared and angry mobs. The voices grew louder, more insistent. Her seemingly innocent escape act had pushed the camp over the edge. _This is all your fault! Do something!_

“People of The Inquisition!” Starling raised her voice to overpower their volume. It cracked under the strain due to disuse. Solas silently appeared behind her and placed a wooden crate on the ground. Some of the people were still speaking at full volume. The elven Herald stepped up onto the box and repeated her cry.

“People of the Inquisition!” Her voice louder and firm this time. She had their attention now. She could feel their eyes. A hundred, maybe more, of their smoke smudged faces gazed upon her. They looked tired; Bent, but not broken. Even more were emerging from their tents in the distance, curious. “We have been torn from our homes by an evil most foul. We have traveled with nothing but the clothes on our backs, the wits in our heads, and the faith in our hearts.” She took a breath. “I tried to stop this from happening, and I failed. I may have sealed the breach, but I could not protect you in the moment you needed it most.”

“That's not true!” a young man yelled from the crowd, interrupting her. She couldn't see the source of the sound, but the voice was familiar. “She saved you, took time tumbling tricking The Madman. She let you sneak out so you would not hurt. She took your hurt!” The man's voice rambled, but Starling still could not get an eye on him.

She didn't have time to figure it out. She had to continue lest she get interrupted again. She surveyed the crowd. All eyes were still upon her. “We escaped Haven, proving that even in the darkest of hours, we will survive. You pledged yourself in service to us in return for your protection. I intend to keep that promise. I know I have asked much of you. You place your fate in the hands of an elven mage. That alone honors me in ways I never dreamed. Yet I have one more favor to ask of you.

“There is a place for us. A keep high in the mountains to the north. It will not be easy. The journey will be hard and cold and long and there will be times you want to give up. But I promise that once we are there, you will be taken care of for as long as it pleases you. You will always have a home with us. I am asking you now to trust me one last time. To follow me to safety, to a place where we will weather this storm. To a stronghold built to house this Inquisition; a group of tireless people from all walks of life; united to save that which we hold most dear!”

The sound of the crowd grew to a soft murmur as they spoke among themselves. The people closest to her reached out to touch her free hand, softly. “Will you come with me?” Starling pleaded, her eyes shining bright in the torchlight; her heart thudding blood in her ears. She saw Cassandra's worried eyes flicking across the mob, and Leliana stared at her in the most curious way. She couldn't measure the crowd. Some faces, especially those toward the front, seemed inspired, but many others examined her warily. Starling swallowed the knot that had grown in her throat.

The stalemate was broken by a sound. A voice, low and slightly hoarse from exhaustion, began to sing. A woman, donned in white chantry robes in the center of the crowd, began make her way toward Staring. Starling recognized her as Mother Giselle, a devout leader of the chantry, and one of the Inquisition's first allies. As she walked, the crowd parted for her, their eyes gleaming as she ended the verse. She stood next to Starling. Then, to Starling's amazement, she heard a beautiful soprano join in the song. Leliana's face was shadowed by her hood, as her voice rang out in earnest. Then more joined in, and more, and more. It was not a song that Starling knew. She stepped down from the crate, and as she did so, the humans began to kneel before her, their eyes aflame, their voices singing in unison. She stood still and after a time, they came to her, surrounding her, kissing her cheeks and hands and each other. She embraced them all. Even her closest companions came forward, all greeting each other in some way. The language of the music broke the barriers between them. Dorian pulled her in for a hug, “A little flamboyant, don't you think, Herald? Next time, just stick with the song,” he whispered in her ear. She smiled for she couldn't stop, and was moved to tears by the power and strength of these people. They reminded her of the Dalish, singing ritual songs by the fire.

She had been foolish to think she could talk them down with a few words. To think that they were there strictly on her accord. They joined the Inquisition because they believed in a higher cause. She was a symbol, but not a motivation. Starling was humbled and touched by their honesty, by their strength, and by their faith. A faith she did not share, but had grown to respect. She gazed across the mass of singers. Leaning on his staff on the edge of the crowd stood Solas. His eyes fixed upon her in an intense and unreadable stare. She felt it in her bones. _Every great war has its heroes. I wonder what kind you'll be_. His words from long ago rang in her ears, and she felt his gaze penetrate her very center. She wondered too.

 

__ Shadows fall _ _

__ And hope has fled _ _

__ Steel your heart _ _

__ The Dawn will come _ _

 

__ The night is long _ _

__ And the path is dark _ _

__ Look to the sky _ _

__ For one day soon _ _

__ The dawn will come _ _

 

__ The shepherd’s lost _ _

__ And his home is far _ _

__ Keep to the stars _ _

__ The dawn will come _ _

 

__ Bare your blade _ _

__ And raise it high _ _

__ Stand your ground _ _

__ The dawn will come _ _

 

* * *

They started early the next morning, as the sun was rising behind the mountain ridge. Cullen wagered that it would take at least a day to get the camp packed and organized properly for the journey. Many of their charges were not soldiers, and were unaccustomed to moving at the change of the wind. Leliana organized her scouts in pairs with Solas and Starling at the forefront. Armed with camping gear and ravens, their job was twofold. Find a way to the stronghold, and map a trail wide and even enough for wagons.

Solas carried their gear, and she had been supplied with several remedies to keep her going for the trip. Her arm was not fully healed but she no longer needed the sling. Adan had wrapped it tightly and with the help of several healers, Starling was deemed fit to lead. She just hoped they didn't encounter anything dangerous, as she still felt weak. Her advisers advocated that she wait one more day, but her stubborn nature won, and there they were, scrambling up mountains and breathing the frosty air, her staff in hand and a bow and quiver strapped to her back. She hoped her arm would improve on the journey, but she also hoped she wouldn't need to use either weapon. The mountains were beautiful and unending. The snow sparkled in the sun; the sky a brilliant blue.

Their raven, a large bird with ink black feathers, large red eyes, and a flash of red feathers on the top of her head, striping down her back, flew alongside them, sometimes coming down to perch on Starling's shoulder for a treat. It would occasionally fly high up in the air, and then dive down toward Solas before changing direction at the last minute. The first time it happened, Solas dove out of the way, his trademark stoicism eluding him. Starling laughed as the raven lit upon her shoulder, imagining the bird saw the top of his shiny head as a beacon.

“She likes you,” said Starling, her laughter ringing off the cliffs around them. Solas eyed the creature with disdain. He muttered something in Elven. She caught the words, 'cruel joke' but the rest she didn't know.

“I believe it is you that she calls friend. She tolerates my presence,” he said. “Have you always had an affinity for those flying creatures?” he asked as they continued up a snowy path.

Starling nodded as she fed the raven a small piece of dried meat. “I believe they are called birds.... And yes, always. Since I was a girl.” She couldn't help giving a sarcastic response. The raven squawked in thanks.

“Is that the reason why they call you Starling?” The conversation she'd expected to have with him months beforehand, emerged now. He hadn't so much as blinked when she introduced herself in Haven, as other elves commonly did. It wasn't Dalish and it was not the name her mother gave her. Most elves found it to be a curious topic, though many were too polite to ask. She didn't respond right away. “It is not a Dalish name,” he continued, his staff tapping the ground with every other stride. He was stating the obvious, and Starling suspected he did this to coax an answer from her.

“There isn't much of a story behind it. It is a pet name that my keeper gave to me when I was little.” The raven leapt off her shoulder and flew high, circling above them.

“Will you indulge a curious friend?” he said, smiling at her. She acquiesced, unable to resist his gaze.

She told him the story of how she dreamed as a child, when she was awakening as a mage. She could fly in her dreams in the fade. It was a magical world for her, and unlike most children her age, for whom bedtime was a hated hour, Starling looked forward to it. Later in life, she suspected this behavior tipped off The Keeper, as mage children often behave this way. But in The Fade is where she diverged from others. One night, her keeper was visiting The Fade in the same time and place where Starling explored, and her Keeper saw the young elf in the form of a bird, traveling the fade as she pleased. It was not completely unheard of, for a child's relationship with The Fade and the world around them can be quite unexpected. It was the story of how her keeper discovered she was a mage, and though this strange phenomenon stopped as Starling grew up, the name stuck. Starling missed those nights when she could fly, and began to insist that everyone call her by the nickname Keeper gave her. Her real name became something strange and secret, while her bird name was the life she desperately wanted.

“Vir revas,” Solas said, his voice somewhat breathy. _The way of freedom_. He stopped walking up the path, and took a few strides toward her. “It is a beautiful name, Lethallan. It suits you perfectly.” His gloved hand brushed her cheek, his eyes admiring her face. Starling could feel herself growing hot under his touch. He stared at her as if she were a strange and marvelous creature. No one had ever looked at her like that before. It was odd, though not unpleasant. She felt a finger trace her vallaslin, an intimate gesture. She saw his jaw tighten. “It is your true name,” he declared, as if making up his mind about something, his unearthly eyes boring into hers. There was fire there. _Dangerous_. Then, he turned away, continuing on their journey. Starling had a difficult time walking for the rest of the morning without thinking of his hands on her.

Upon stopping for a quick lunch, they realized their current path ended in a narrow gap between two rock ledges. They had to backtrack several hours and start again. Starling tied a message to the raven and sent her off to inform the others, and they struck out a new way. They hiked for hours. Sometimes in silence, sometimes in song, and sometimes telling each other stories. Starling kept the discussion of the Dalish to a minimum. As the sun began to go down, they stumbled upon a cave. Starling tensed, growing nervous. If an unfriendly animal lived there, she feared she would be useless in a fight. Solas could take care of himself, but if anything were to happen...

Reading her thoughts, as he did often, Solas took off his pack and gave her arm a quick squeeze. “Let me take a look,” he said, holding his staff at the ready. She watched him set his stance, prowling like a hunter. His back relaxed but his legs were almost springy as he crept on his toes. He stopped to sniff the air, and then he disappeared into the darkness of the cave mouth. It was quiet. She stood there waiting, angry that her injuries required someone to look after her.

Growing up Dalish, and later with The Inquisition, Starling had seen pain and suffering. The life of a Dalish was not cushy, but she had always been a cautious person, even as a child. She'd never experienced a major injury before, and not being in control was a major source of frustration. Haven had taught her not only that the war was real, but her time was fleeting. The only thing that tethered her to Thedas; her family; her friends; her cause; him; was the blood and bones and tissues of her body. To think that it could fail brought her to a dark place. To think that she could cause others to fail was even worse. Her heart jumped when she saw Solas emerging from the cave, walking at a slow clip. She let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

“It's abandoned, and has been so for quite some time. It is adequate shelter for the night,” he informed her, grabbing the pack and pulling it over one shoulder. She sighed with relief. Her ankle and arm were throbbing and resting sounded excellent. She then realized that it would be just the two of them. Alone. In the dark. _Get it together, Lavellan._

The cave was small, and it suited them perfectly. They set up camp, going through the motions as they had done many times before. Only this time, there was no one else there to distract them from the electricity in the air. There was a new tension between them; a feeling of anticipation. Starling both loved and hated it. She heard a squawk on the exterior of the cave, and a raven flapped into view. It was a different bird than before. He was smaller than the other, and he only had one eye. His feathers were ragged. “Hello there, ha'hren,” she greeted the old raven and fed him some food. His message told them the positions of scouts and that the main camp was set to move at sunrise. “Be safe, little bird,” was scrawled at the bottom in Blackwall's hasty hand.

Starling began to send a letter back, but Solas stayed her hand. “Let me, emm'asha,” he took the materials from her, and traded them for a cold compress made of snow and fabric. She protested, but only out of habit, for she was grateful. Starling removed her boots. They were finely made, but they couldn't prevent her ankle from swelling. She propped it up on a bundle of clothing. Starling felt her eyelids grow heavy, but her body was still wide awake. She drank a potion to soothe the pain, hoping she picked one that wouldn't knock her out. Rummaging around in their pack, her hand located the worn cloth doll. Starling pulled it out and ran her fingers on its seams. She must have stared at it for some time, for when she looked up, Solas was crouched near her. He had already sent off the missive.

“Lethallan, let us eat a bit before you fall asleep,” he said, his voice soft. She nodded, rubbing her eyes. Her body felt heavy. He placed a hand on her shoulder, still speaking gently. “I would like to have a look at your ankle as well,” he proposed, half asking for her permission, and half telling her she didn't have a choice.

They hadn't seen any game on the trail, so they ate what they carried. She felt sluggish. She had taken the wrong potion. At least it calmed her nerves. She didn't know how long she could stare into his eyes and not kiss him. The medicine would prevent that. She didn't know why she was so self conscious. Now, after all this time. The first time they had met, she wasn't even conscious. She'd lain dirty in a cell, manacled and screaming.

After eating, he approached her. She still felt groggy but the food had energized her some. He knelt at her feet, taking her bare foot into both hands. Her heart leapt to her throat. He had touched her before, a hand to her shoulder, walking arm in arm, their hands folded together, and she was sure he must have done more than that when caring for her after the escape from Haven. She could feel herself blushing furiously, wondering exactly how much of her he had seen. The other touches had been friendly, or just necessary to save her. This was very different. Intimate. He was professional, but there was something else hiding behind his eyes as his nimble fingers prodded, feeling her bones. Desire? Reluctance? She couldn't say. Reading others was not her skill, and reading a man like Solas was out of the question.

“It is healing remarkably, lethallan. The potion master has found a new calling, perhaps,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “I did not see it in him when we first met,” Solas added. Starling's lips curved into a half smile.

“People can surprise you, Solas. If you let them.” She tilted her head; a coquettish look gleamed in her sleepy eyes.

“Like you,” he said, his voice turning soft again. It was dark in the cave, but she swore she thought she saw his ears turn pink, and both of them realized he still held her foot in his hands. He set it down gently, clearing his throat. For all his wisdom and reflection, his reservation and his distance, he was a person, after all. He stood up quickly and walked toward the mouth of the cave. She watched him cast spells in the entrance, wards to keep them safe. He was always a wonder to watch. His wards were strong, and casting them was a limber dance she'd seen him perform many times before. She laid down in her bedroll, pulled a blanket over her, and allowed the hypnotic display to lull her to sleep.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Daylight was creeping into the cave when Starling woke. Solas lay asleep in his bedroll, the faint embers of the fire between them. He hadn't woken her to take a watch, though they didn't require one. She'd had a nightmare again; the bloody child screaming. Scratching the mark on her wrist idly, she pushed the thought from her mind. Starling stretched in her bed, and noticed her injured arm and ankle felt surprisingly good. She'd accidentally unwrapped the arm during sleep, and felt no pain. After working it a few times and giving her body a complete stretch, she left the cave to relieve herself, minding the wards that Solas had set. His magic was familiar to her. It smelled like cedar, and something else; something she'd forgotten. The sun would rise soon. Starling tiptoed back into the cave and quietly started the fire again. They were sheltered, but the air was frigid. As the flames ignited, the walls of the cave lit up, and Starling saw a shadow on the wall next to where Solas lay. As the fire grew, it was illuminated.

A drawing, done in charcoal, she assumed, had been painstakingly sketched on the wall. A bird, a starling, its wings opened toward her, every feather in astonishing detail. Its eyes were large and intense. They seemed to follow her as she moved, haunting and determined. The thin beak was slightly open. A simple mountain range graced the background below. She looked down at Solas again. He slept, peacefully. His fingers were blackened and a smudge adorned his cheek. She'd never seen anything so beautiful. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers along her lips, imagining him there, his mouth warm on hers, opening into her with hunger and need. Her eyes snapped open, and she dropped her hand to her side. _No, Starling. Dangerous._ She quietly packed up some of their things and retrieved food for them both, hoping she wouldn't wake him.

He slept for a bit longer, his face placid. He was older than she, but his skin was smooth as a child's. The only sign of wear was a small scar between his eyebrows. Seeing him there reminded her of the salve “for her mug,” and she made sure she applied it liberally. She thought it was working. Her skin didn't seem as rough as before, but she had no way of knowing. Starling was slightly shamed by her vanity; a characteristic frowned upon by her people. Solas stirred.

“Aneth ara, lethallin,” she said to him. “You were up late,” she added, nodding to the drawing behind him. He yawned, showing teeth, and looked at her. His expression reminded her of a puppy, his eyes still droopy from sleep. “You left ena'an'sal here, a gift for this cave. For others who make this their resting place?” she said. What she had intended to say as a statement came out as a question. The taller elf stood up, stretching his arms over his head. His shirt crept up, revealing a sliver of skin around his hip bones. Starling looked away, her cheeks slightly flushing. She didn't know why she averted her eyes. She'd seen many people naked before, and she'd definitely seen snips of Solas in the past. _It's just skin_. Solas turned his head and examined his work from the night before.

“A vision that would not escape my thoughts until I showed you,” he said, in his own way of an answer.

“It is breathtaking,” she said, and chided herself for sounding like a swooning girl. Art had always fascinated Starling, for she had little skill with it. He turned and grinned in response.

“It's only a sketch,” he said, his voice dry; his smile a smirk. He knew he possessed great talent, and he was not one to boast. She thought he found it gauche. He was a man of deeds, not words. Solas said nothing more, and began to pack up the camp.

“I wonder,” she said aloud, her voice thoughtful, and hopefully laced with an appropriate amount of flattery. “If there will be space... in our destination. If there is, would you do this? Will you decorate the walls with your visions?”

“Ma nuvenin,” he replied without hesitation. _As you wish_. Starling smiled in response, pleased.

They ate quickly and were on their way as the sun broke over the mountains. Their raven showed up early in the day. It was the large female, squawking and sweeping the skies above them. They made good time that day, for the path was easy. They ran into a pair of scouts at a trail fork; a human and a dwarf. They lunched together, talking mostly about the journey and which paths to take next. Starling sent them on a trail that branched to the northeast, while she and Solas continued north. The trail grew steep, but not unbearable. It was still wide enough to accommodate a wagon. Starling assumed they traveled a derelict road, ancient and forgotten. They only had to double back once, for about half an hour. Her arm and ankle must be healed, and it surprised her to feel little agitation. Maybe she'd just needed to use them, or maybe there was magic in these mountains.

They stopped a bit early that day, for they had covered a lot of ground. Before evening fell, they set up camp at the base of a steep cliff. She had hoped they'd find another cave. It felt safer somehow, and during their journey, she realized they only carried one small tent. The thought of his sleeping body inches away from hers made her extremely anxious. It would be cold, and they might have to... She shook her head violently, begging the image to leave her mind. Solas must have noticed. He peered at her curiously but did not pry. Silently chastising herself for not thinking of this before, she wondered if he felt the same. Starting something with him would be a mistake. She had to focus on The Inquisition, on defeating Corypheus, and the thousands of other things that went with that. _I choose to love him like a friend and nothing more_.

Another cause for daytime camping was their sudden and unexpected proximity to a wooded area. Starling hoped to find some game. The Clan's First was no great archer, but all Dalish knew how to fire a bow. Solas sent the missive and a map to the scouts and the main horde, while Starling set out in an attempt to hunt down their supper. Her arm had improved, and though she hated hunting, the thought of even gamey meat was enough to motivate her. The ravens were scheduled to deliver sustenance every other day, but after her week of helplessness, Starling felt the need to do something for herself. She didn't expect to find anything in the short time they'd allotted. These were not familiar woods. After an hour, she was surprised to see a small group of deer stripping the bark off some trees. Too big. She saw a fat grouse too, its brown feathers puffed up. _He's looking for a mate_. She strung her arrow. The grouse turned its head, its black eye staring her down in defiance. _Fenhedis!,_ she whispered the curse under her breath. She lowered her bow. Starling had never been able to kill a feathered friend, and she couldn't start now. _Get out of here, stupid bird_. He bobbed his skinny head at her and flew off, revealing something behind him; patterned holes in the ground. Rabbits, perhaps? What luck! She settled in, eyeing the den, waiting for dinner.

The sun was disappearing behind a mountain as she returned to camp with a skinny but sizable hare. “Andruil was with me, I suppose,” she said, winking as she handed it to him. He took it and shot her a glance through narrowed eyes. Solas hated it when she summoned the names of the Dalish gods, especially if she attributed something to them. She wasn't a believer, but she sometimes enjoyed tormenting him. Starling grinned and popped into the tent to change.

The evening was quiet. She liked it, but as she was accustomed to traveling with a group, it left her lonesome. Every one of her Inquisition friends was so different from her and from each other. Despite these vast differences, they reminded her of traveling with the aravels. She couldn't comprehend how Solas could stand the solitude.

“Did you ever get tired of being alone, Solas?” she asked loudly, calling to him as she pulled her top on over her head.

“I was never alone, emm'asha,” he responded without missing a beat. “I have many friends in The Fade.” She sighed, nodding her head even though he couldn't see.

“Yes, I know... And they all seem interesting, I just...” she shrugged, uncertain of where she was going. She stepped out of the tent, fully dressed, and set her traveling clothes to air out on a rock. “There's no, physical contact, I mean. No tangibility. There's no sound of a group song, the crying of children, the different stories to be learned and told...” She furrowed her brow, still unsure of her own statement. He smiled, his hands still working her catch.

“For the most part, that is true, but the knowledge of spirits is a reward of its own kind, and the sounds, different,” he said.

“I miss Varric,” was her response. Varric would have something quick to say, a witticism that she did not. His stories were not distant legends or tales, but based in a type of reality that he himself had experienced.

“And Blackwall,” the apostate elf added, as the knife tore into the rabbit's skin. She furrowed her brow in confusion.

“Yes... and Blackwall too...” she said, slowly. “And Cassandra... and Madame du Fer, and... everyone else...” Her voice was measured, and she peered at him, curious. “What do you mean, 'and Blackwall?'” she added, unable to hide her mild annoyance.

“I know you two are close,” he continued. “It is a blessing to find comfort in a storm. You should take it when you can.” The rabbit was nearly skinned. He worked quickly. Starling tried to laugh, but it came out as a strange coughing sound.

“Are you suggesting, that he and I...?” She trailed off. Her eyes were wide in disbelief. She couldn't even say the words.

“Forgive me, Lethallan. I should not have assumed.” His voice was quiet, and a little sharp. The blood collected in the snow beneath him, dripping from the carcass. “I heard a tale and thought it true,” he continued. He stopped cutting and regarded her, violet eyes unreadable, “Is it not?”

“Perhaps it was commonplace among 'ancient elves' or spirits of the fade for brother to bed sister,” she chuckled. “But that is, currently, not a fantasy of mine.” A sound escaped his closed lips.

“So, you are not,” he said; a strange half statement. He frowned, the scar between his eyes deepened. He almost sounded disappointed. Starling looked away, slightly hurt. Had she misinterpreted him? For a moment, the only sound was the ripping of tendons and the tearing of flesh from bone. “Come,” he said finally, changing the subject. “Let us cook and eat this prey. And you can tell me a tale of the Dalish.” She wrinkled her forehead, her eyes tracing his face, skeptically. “I swear I will not roll my eyes,” he added, placing a bloody hand on his heart. She took the hare from him.

“Alright. Clean up. I will put this on the fire and tell you a story,” she placed a hand on her hip, “but the moment you try to contradict me about elven culture, I'm done!” she threatened, not realizing she was shaking the dead rabbit at him, though her eyes were smiling.

“Ar'din eran,” he promised. _I wouldn't dream of it_.

Solas returned a few moments later, his hands clean. He entered the tent to change out of his traveling clothes. She had skewered the rabbit and was placing it over the fire when movement in the tent caught her eye. The tent flap was still partially open, and Solas knelt inside. She could see his back and then his profile as he slid out of his traveling robes, revealing taut muscles, surprisingly broad shoulders, and a neatly tapered waist. Her breath hitched; a quick hiss. Traveling with others often lead to a kind of closeness, rivaled only by lovers and family. Naked and partially clothed bodies were the norm. She felt no discomfort or shame in this. But he... She willed her eyes to stop, but they would not obey. The defined muscles of his neck and arms rippled under his skin as he searched through their pack. She imagined kissing him there, his arms wrapped around her. He was lean and long, and his skin had the smoothness of Antivan china. She didn't see any scars. If he had hair on his chest, she could not say. She began to wonder if he did, searching her memory for any other moments that she caught Solas with his shirt off, before her eyes finally obeyed.

A few minutes later, he emerged from the tent, fully dressed. He hung his day clothes on the rock next to hers, and he gave her his rare and playful smirk. Did he know? Was her face red? She felt a tingle well below her stomach; a twinge of excitement, the awakening of something primal. He didn't say a word, and as they ate, he kept his promise to listen respectfully to her story. They talked into the night until Solas couldn't keep his eyes open.

He set his wards, and headed into the tent. “I will be in momentarily,” she said, her voice crisp and more formal than she intended. _So much for not sounding nervous_. With his wards up, there was no need to set a watch. Her inability to sleep, combined with the full day's travel, ran her ragged, and she desperately needed rest. She also needed to gather her thoughts. Starling wanted to let him fall asleep before climbing into the tent. She stared into the fire. Her anxiety about the tent situation had momentarily distracted her from the real problem. She was heading into the mountains, an untraveled and relatively uncharted region of the world. Trusting a mysterious man and her instinct that she would lead The Inquisition to safety. She wondered how they fared. Her mind wandered to the cloth doll, and the burning of Haven. Before her thoughts could turn any darker, she quietly crept into the tent.

Solas lay on his side, his back to her bedroll, a shapeless lump under the blanket. She hoped he was sleeping. She climbed into her bed silently and lay on her back. He was breathing rhythmically and she relaxed, glad for it. The tension escaped her shoulders and she fell asleep.

_Falling falling falling. The face of the girl, bloody. I can't get out! Someone help me! Sharp red crystals began to erupt from beneath the girl's skin, jagged points stabbing daggers through her eyes. The blood flowed in rivers through the snow. She ran toward the girl but she couldn't catch her. Always out of reach. She felt pressure on her hand. Don't touch me! She spun around. The wolf. The white wolf from The Fade, its white fur stained with blood. A hand grabbed her shoulder. She whipped her arm back, her own hand balled into a fist, lashing out at her assailant. She-_

“Shhh, Lethallan,” a soft voice whispered in her ear. Her eyes snapped open wide, her breathing erratic. Starling felt sticky sweat on her back and forehead, camping in the crooks of her joints. She looked up to see one of his hands wrapped around her wrist, stopping it mid-flight. Solas was behind her, propped up on one elbow, lying on his side. She pulled her arm down, the runes on it flickered, and he relinquished it, using his now-free hand to stroke her hair. He continued to whisper a string of soothing words, several phrases; some she understood; some she did not. “You are having a nightmare. An ara, ma lath,” her heart was pounding and she couldn't breathe. She barely heard him over the rush of blood in her ears. It was so hot. She felt feverish and clammy. She had to get out.

Starling lunged out of the tent, barefoot, gasping in the cool air. She had almost hit him in her sleep. She couldn't save them. She walked several paces into the dark, nearly setting off one of the wards. Clouds filled the sky. There were no stars tonight. She stood there in the cold shaking out her hands. When she was a girl, she saw a halla who had stood in a mound of poisonous ants. It was old and slow, and could not escape. The ants rushed out of the hill, crawling and biting, paralyzing the halla. The poor creature bleated with anguish as it died. Its cries echoed throughout the forest. and Starling could do nothing but watch. The halla keeper had to end its misery. Her skin tingled unpleasantly, especially on her wrist around the mark, and she felt like that halla; with ants rushing over, covering her; chewing holes in her skin. She felt the impulse to scratch and tear it off. Starling heard him stepping through the snow behind her. He said nothing at first, but came to stand next to her. He held a blanket in his arms. She wiped her eyes with trembling fingers.

“I am sorry,” she said, trying to get her breath and heart under control. Her breath fogged, and her body began to perceive the freezing temperature of the night. He placed the blanket around her shoulders after she spoke. The sound of the pulsing blood began to quiet. Her breath slowed to normal.

“There is no need for an apology,” he replied. “You have experienced more pain and suffering in the past week than many will in one lifetime. Your strong connection to the fade makes your dreams more vivid, your nightmares more intense. You are the strongest soul I've met, with the largest heart. A weaker person would crumble away. A crueler one would revel in the violence and fame.” It was one of the kindest things she had ever heard. She wished that it was under different circumstances; in a different time. She leaned against him, unsure what to say, and his arm swept up around her shoulders, holding her close. They stood there for a moment, in silence.

“My feet are cold,” she blurted. She was an idiot. Solas chuckled quietly.

“I can lift you,” he offered, his eyes searching her face. His irises sparkled in good humor but concern was behind them. She held out her hand.

“Just walk with me,” she whispered. He laced his fingers into hers, and they walked back to the tent together.

They settled in. She, on her side, and he lay behind her, her back pressed against his chest. She didn't want to go back to sleep; back to the nightmare.

“I will stay awake with you until you go to sleep,” he offered, “And tomorrow, we will begin our work to defeat your nightmares.” His dexterous fingers stroked her hair, tucking strands behind her ears; a calming gesture. “If you like,” he continued, “I know a spell that will help tonight.” She nodded.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice plaintive.

He began to speak in rhythmic Elven; a poem or a rhyme. It was something she had never heard. She felt his magic surround her like a warm cloud, kissing her eyelids and nestling in her heart. She felt immediately peaceful. Before she could even thank him, she drifted.


	7. Chapter 7

Starling dreamed of a beach. It must have been where his magic had brought her. She'd never seen an ocean. Its foamy waves crashed on the white sand, which was soft as it sifted through her toes. She was reminded of when she was a child. She'd travel to The Fade at night, exploring all it had to offer, completely ignorant of any danger. It was a new and exciting world, and she had no responsibilities. She wondered how Solas had brought her here, and where she was.

As soon as she thought of him, he appeared. He wore a loose shirt and short pants. He wiggled his toes in the sand, as if reveling in the feeling. She looked down to see herself clad in a soft dress. The material was thin and light on her skin, revealing her freckled shoulders.

“I like it,” she said, absentmindedly. “The sun is so bright here.” She crouched down, letting the sand run through short fingers. “Let's stay,” she decided.

“For a time,” he agreed. “Shall we walk?” he said, offering his arm. She looked around. The shoreline extended in either direction for as far as she could see. Something was strange. She nodded and took his arm. The air smelled of fresh salt, and a soft breeze blew her hair, caressing her ears.

“The Fade is like a mirror. It has time, but does not. It occupies space, but does not,” he said, guiding her along the edge of the ocean. The warm water kissed her feet before retreating back to the sea. “When you are calm, when you are happy, The Fade feels your emotions and reflects them back to you. This attracts spirits.” His opposite hand stroked the one she used to hold his arm. She didn't see any spirits here. She knew all of this. Then, she realized what he said.

“So, you are saying that I created the nightmare,” she frowned, feeling slightly sad.

“Yes,” he nodded. “In a way... Your fear and sadness are reflected, magnified. The images you see are ones that you brought here.” She tilted her head slightly, thoughts running through her mind.

“So.. that should mean that I can banish them,” she replied. Her head felt very clear and light. He smiled at her, the small creases in his eyes were almost undetectable here. He seemed far less troubled than usual.

“Yes,” he said. “You are a mage and they can feel your power. Your pain, your fears, and stress disrupt The Fade, far more than an ordinary person.” Even more became clear.

“The Mark. It must create more attraction!” she said, her voice urgent with excitement. She felt her cheeks pull her lips into a grin. She liked this little beach game. Everything was so calm here, as if these truths were all objective. As if she could separate herself from the feeling. It was like they were singing to each other without reproach or fear. Nothing could touch them. She wanted to dance.

“Yes. You are quick tonight, lethallan,” he said. He stopped walking and turned toward her. _His collarbones are very nice. Like two swans._ She reached up to touch one, tracing her finger along the slope. Before she could reach the nub below his neck, he caught her hand in his, and brought it to his lips. He kissed her fingers lightly. Then, he shared his smile. “I think that it is time, emm'asha,” he said. She frowned.

“Time for what?” They hadn't even danced yet.

“To wake up.”

She opened her eyes. He'd held her through the night. She felt her back pressed against his chest and his hand had found hers as they slept. She felt like she had rested for days on a bed of feathers and clouds.

“Good morning,” he whispered as she stirred, his breath hot in her ear. _Creators guide me_. She laid there, enjoying the moment while the goose flesh prickled on her skin.

“Teach me that spell,” she demanded. “The one that brings me to the beach.” He laughed, and she felt his chest rumble against her. Her body gave an involuntary shiver in response.

“That part was not a spell, though your enthusiasm is appreciated,” he said. Solas ran his fingertips through her hair. “I should have spoke of this before nightmares,” he added. She could feel the regret in his tone. “Your Keeper did not teach you meditation. Starting today, we will rectify that fault.” Starling flipped around to face him, in the brief chance that “meditation” was fade language for kissing, but as she did so, he sat up. _Apparently not_. She silently chided herself for nearly giving in to a moment of weakness.

They packed quickly, and set off. They ate on the road, for they had slept in past sunrise. They were both quiet for most of the morning. Starling found herself humming part of the human song they sang to her. _Look to the sky, the dawn will come_. The sky was the one place she'd always wanted to go; to fly high above. There was safety in that blue. Maybe she could bring the sky to them, to him.

It was an arduous day. They lost the ancient road, and had to double back to find it again. The energy she banked from the deep but brief sleep had abandoned her. It was late when they set up camp, going through their regular motions. After they sent the day's missive with a raven, Solas wanted to begin the meditation. Her previous enthusiasm for this had waned along with her energy. Her keeper, in fact, did attempt to teach her meditation techniques. They were essential lessons for The First. She failed these lessons. Her mind would not turn off, and Starling had grown very accustomed to listening to herself chatter on the inside. She confessed as much to him as they sat down, cross legged, facing each other. Solas exhaled quickly through his nose in response.

“Perhaps the Dalish methods failed, but mine will not,” he said. He'd spat the word Dalish as if it were some species of cockroach. This was not the best way to get her to cooperate. She wanted to be rid of the nightmares, but she couldn't stand the slight.

“Must you always insult my people?” she responded, her voice quiet but intense. “You do not know my Clan. You do not know our Keeper. How could you possibly know her techniques?” Her back straightened as she spoke, leaning slightly away from him, a defensive and stubborn posture. He shook his head, his eyes examining the ground while he thought. He brought them to hers. The soft violet had given way to steely gray.

“Starling,” he said, his voice formal. “I am trying to help you. Do you think your nightmares will cease without effort?”

“I am not stupid, Solas,” she retorted. Her growing anger made her face feel hot. She wasn't sure why she was so cross with him. She thought he was coming from a good place, but she was sick of his patronizing speeches on The Dalish. Her eyes narrowed, and she peered at him. “Why does it matter to you so much? What do you gain?” The words escaped her mouth before she could stop them. In that moment, she realized that she wasn't angry with him about The Dalish. She was curious of his feelings for her. She was being very unfair and selfish, though it was too late to stop now. His lips formed a thin line, and he studied her carefully. His eyes narrowed in turn.

“You cry through the night, and as you toss and turn I see the stress,” he responded.

“That is not an answer,” she said, flatly; disappointed. She yearned for him to say in poetic speech that he cared for her. He wanted to help her defeat the nightmares because he couldn't stand to see her in pain. He was hiding something. The feeling in her gut told her so, and it wasn't that he cared. He sighed, exasperated. They sometimes got like this when discussing The Dalish, but they always debated with mutual respect for the other. This conversation had gone somewhere else. He lowered his voice, but the sharpness was still there.

“If you do not defeat these dreams, I fear you'll rip the veil in sleep,” he confessed.

“Is this something you could not tell me?” she spat, her voice was pitched higher than intended. She had not meant to whine like a child. He had treated her like one, and she responded in kind. She felt the tension in her forehead making its way to her neck and shoulders.

“You carry the weight of the world,” he said, an explanation. “I thought I could lessen that burden-”

“By lying to me?” She practically spat the words as she interrupted him. “By thinking that you know how difficult this is? That you know better than I?” She was right, and he had to know it.

“Yes!” he said, and now it was his turn for words to leap from his mouth without thinking. “You do not sleep. You barely eat. I thought we'd start to train your mind to calm, and then I'd planned to tell it all. Hidden thoughts and hidden theories are not always lies.” He looked at her, his eyes blue and pleading. She couldn't meet his gaze, but sat there in silence. She felt the urge to run, but there was nowhere to go. “Please, lethallan,” he spoke again, breaking the silence. “I am sorry.”

“So am I,” she whispered. She took a few breaths, and made up her mind. “Let us put this behind us,” she continued, the formality returning to her voice. The lines did not leave her brow, and she regarded him with distance. This is why she would keep him at arm's length. _This is better in the long run._ She felt dirty, as if she'd been manipulated, though she thought he had a point. He was not accustomed to sharing, and though he was wrong, his concern had come from a place of kindness. Besides, it wasn't as if she deserved no blame for this discussion. She'd sought confirmation of his feelings; for a relationship she wanted but knew she could not have. No good would come of that. Instead of speaking directly, she'd wrongly accused him of selfishness. She took a deep breath again and exhaled, slowly. It hurt, but she could forgive his prejudice, and his prideful assumptions of what he chose to share and what he decided was best to keep close.

“Teach me your _superior_ methods,” she said, finally, her voice wielding a sarcastic edge. Well, she could try. He regarded her with surprise, and a quick expression of something else crossed his face. Anguish? Longing? As usual, she could not discern it, and willed herself to ignore it. She would worry on him no longer.

She scooted towards him, their cross legged knees nearly touching, and they began. He started by teaching her breathing techniques, explaining how the body and spirit worked together. Sometimes he would lace his fingers into hers, to demonstrate how the calming waves felt if she focused correctly. She thought, initially, it was a spell, but to her surprise and mild disdain, it was mostly mundane. Anyone could do it, but the magic made it more “potent,” or something. As with her Keeper, she didn't understand it very well and this frustrated her to no end. He gave her tips to clear her mind. It was exceedingly difficult. She hated it. The only part she enjoyed, despite herself, was his voice, and she found it easy to focus on his lyrical speech. However, when he went silent, the chattering of her mind would turn back on, as if he had the power to flip a switch in her very soul. He praised her progress, though she thought it empty.

They fell asleep that night apart, but woke up entwined, her face buried in his chest, forehead nestled on his collarbones, their arms wrapped round each other. “Ar'abelas, emm'asha,” he murmured as she stirred to wake. His arms reacted, pulling her close. One of his hands had found its way to the back of her head, and he stroked her hair. “Ar'abelas melava uth,” _I am sorry for all time._ She propped herself onto her elbow, and touched his face lightly with her hand.

“Dina'numa, lethallin. Na'nuven'in em'shala.” _Do not fret, my dear. You wanted to protect me._ She smiled at him, her eyes turning playful. Her finger found its way to his aquiline nose and she tapped it lightly. “Do not do it too often,” she added. She hoped her voice expressed equal amounts of tease and threat. She left him alone in the tent, getting dressed outside quickly and preparing their breakfast. _So much for arm's length_.

They traveled for several more days, sending and receiving the ravens. The bulk of The Inquisition was days behind, but the missives were sent in good spirits. Occasionally, they would encounter scouts along the road. Their meetings brief but full of meaning. Morale was high, despite everything. Solas and Starling filled their days with conversation and hidden glances. Their nights were simultaneously thrilling and frustrating. After practicing meditation, they would go to sleep in their tent, huddled together, bodies pressing against each other for “warmth.” The nightmares still plagued her as she slept, though she thought they slowly became more manageable.

He did not take her into The Fade as he had before, and part of her was glad for it. She knew that if he ever did so again, she would not be able to not stop herself from placing her mouth on his, and do things that she should not. She had a duty to The Inquisition; The People who deserved her attention most. An attachment to him requited would complicate their goals. He seemed to understand, and let her lead. In another time, another life, or perhaps when this was finally over, she would make her feelings known, for good or ill.

One afternoon, it began to snow. Solas wanted to stop and set camp early, but Starling had a strange feeling in her gut. The wind blew a violent and unexpected gust, nearly knocking her staff from her hands.

“Just a little further,” Starling chattered through her teeth. At first she thought he might protest; insist they camp immediately. Instead, the apostate elf nodded to her, grimly, without a word. She must have had a look in her eye. She gazed into the distance. Not far was a great curve in the mountaintop. _Just over that ridge, there is a spot. A perfect spot_.

The sun must have hit the horizon as they reached the ridge. Starling grinned in triumph. Her eyes widened, dumbfounded as it came into view. Her breath caught in her throat. Across a shallow but rocky valley below, housed in jagged boulders; battlements kissed by snow, sat the grandest keep she'd ever seen. _Skyhold_. It loomed above them, pristine and beautiful. Her smile briefly turned bittersweet. She missed her friends, the noises of camp, the smell of horses, the hot baths, and her heart thumped with the thrill of success. The bitterness came with the fear that things wouldn't be the same with Solas, now that they would soon be surrounded by the throng of The Inquisition. Though she'd restrained herself, she knew she would have to be more careful, lest others take notice of her feelings for him. She'd grown used to the warmth; the feeling of his hands in hers; the sounds of him sleeping beside her. The nightmares were still present, and he would hold her close, whispering those elven words that she half knew. She hoped he would still want to do so, despite the presence of their comrades. Maybe they should have stopped and set up camp, to spend one last night together before responsibility claimed them.

“Is this real?” she whispered. Solas stared at the sight, and then turned to face her, his lips curving in that rare and special smile he reserved for her alone. Gingerly, he took her freezing hand in his.

“Show me what's inside, emm'asha,” he said, his voice low, a silent promise that put her fears to rest. She lead the way down the ridge toward Skyhold. She lead him home.


	8. Chapter 8

After their arrival at Skyhold, scouts began to trickle in, and within several days, the keep was bustling, even before the arrival of the main horde. Leliana and Varric were among this first group, and it wasn't long before the drums and horns announced the arrival of the main army and the rest of her friends. The Herald of Andraste acquired an even more formal title, The Inquisitor. It was a role she'd reluctantly accepted. It sounded far too ominous, and though she tried to play the part, she insisted that everyone call her Starling. This request was not often heeded. The people of Orlais and Ferelden were accustomed to hierarchy, and addressing her by the proper title was a habit not easily broken.

The sun was lighting the sheer curtains that graced the walkway to her balcony when Starling awoke. She sat up with a start. Had she slept in? The lack of knocking on the door to her quarters was a good sign. She hopped out of bed and dressed quickly, thankful that the ladies who'd been assigned to help her dress finally took the hint that she didn't need them. She hoped they would sleep in as she bade. Yawning and stretching, she grabbed the ledger from her desk that detailed her schedule for the day. She groaned as she noted she'd been slated for several hours of “Ball Preparation” that morning in her quarters. While the new capital of The Inquisition got itself up and running, Josephine, Leliana, and Vivienne set out to prepare Starling for the most terrifying and dangerous situation she'd ever faced; Empress Celene's Royal Ball. Yesterday, Starling found herself baffled by the sheer number of utensils Orlesians required for food consumption during her “dining lesson.” She was even more perplexed upon learning that every one of them had a proper name, position, and corresponding use. Vivienne explained to her that there wouldn't be dinner served at this particular ball, however, Starling needed this knowledge for other noble encounters. The First Enchanter was patient though firm during the lesson with her little Dalish savage, and Starling was mostly easy to work with; her years of deference to her Keeper was finally put to good use.

Starling noted that she had a little time before her day was to begin, and since she would be cooped in her apartment for most of the morning, she set out to the tavern, donning a hood over her head for attempted anonymity. Since arriving at Skyhold and accepting the title of Inquisitor, she was constantly surrounded by people, and even at night there was a detail of soldiers guarding her quarters. She'd found fun ways to elude them, and once she climbed down the wall outside her balcony, conjuring tenuous magic vines as a ladder, only to realize that Leliana's scouts had eyes even there. She found herself meeting a few of them when she finally got to the battlements below. This morning, she marched right out the door of her apartment, passing the two soldiers stationed there. She greeted them kindly, for it was not their fault that Cullen insisted on high security while Skyhold was being repaired. Luckily, she'd been saddling up to these guards with conversation and ale, so they did not follow at her behest.

She made her way down to the tavern, briefly halting by a door to the solar off the main hall. She considered pushing open this door and breaking her fast with Solas. As she'd feared, they hadn't had much chance to speak since their journey to Skyhold. Her hands involuntarily balled into fists of frustration. Exhaling, she turned and stomped her way to the tavern.  _It is better this way_ , she assured herself as she crossed the courtyard and opened the heavy door, stepping into the dark room. She was surprised that not many people were up yet. Bull and his Chargers were out on some assignment, and the tavern was relatively quiet. She climbed the creaky stairs to the second floor, in hopes to have Sera join her. However, when she knocked on the door, Starling heard a muffled bump and a groggy “Not up yet! Go stuff a plum!” in the sound of Sera's voice. At least that's what she thought she heard. Starling wasn't sure what it meant, but she didn't stay to ask. Alone, Starling made her way to a small table in the corner.

“You're surrounded but you are all alone sometimes,” came the sound of a familiar voice. And suddenly, Cole appeared, crouching in the chair across from her. He wore clothing that seemed either old or not of this world, patchwork and soft, with a large bucket of a hat that covered most of his face. His pale blue eyes peered at her from behind disheveled flaxen hair. Cole had arrived with the Red Templars during the invasion on Haven. He brought with him a warning and strange counsel. Unbeknownst to Starling, he followed The Inquisition to Skyhold, his new home, where he, or rather Solas, revealed his true nature. Starling had warmed to the spirit, though often felt uncomfortable when he spoke her subconscious truths aloud. At least she no longer jumped when he appeared. _Progress_. She smiled in greeting to him.  
  
“Yes, sometimes,” she replied in agreement. “How are you this morning, Cole? Have you helped anyone today?” She tried to veer him to another topic, though she knew he would speak what he wanted, when he wanted, as if he had no control over it. Varric and Solas were both better at communicating with Cole. Starling mostly stayed quiet, preferring to ask questions rather than answer.

“Yes, a girl. She sees him at night but wants him in the day too. She is slipping and smells like sunset. He does not know her,” Cole replied, in his usual manner. “But he will,” he added, giving a brief nod.  
  
“Well, I am glad that you can help,” Starling said, unsure if that was the correct response, but Cole seemed satisfied. She continued to eat her breakfast and sipped the tea the barkeep had supplied for her.

“You have not left Skyhold. It's been too long,” Cole continued. “Do not worry, they know that they will see you. They see you in their hearts, even when you are not there.” She smiled at him.

“Thank you, Cole,” she said. She wondered if he would continue on the topic of The Inquisitor, and reveal all her hopes and fears to her. She hoped he wouldn't. It made her feel self-conscious and silly.

“You are welcome,” he replied, and then he stood up, pacing back and forth near her. “There will be dress-up today,” Cole said. “The first enchanter hopes you will be pleased, but she will not be known. Her mask is ice.” Suddenly, he crouched down to the floor, his pale hands searching the wood. They closed around a small bug. It squirmed in his hands, black legs twitching. He disappeared, and then reappeared again, his hands empty. Cole continued as if he hadn't even stopped. “He'll come to you today. He needs to understand why you lied. He wants you to see but... he is afraid. I know why. You did it to help.” Starling nearly choked on her tea.  
  
“Cole,” she said, her eyes studying him curiously. As usual, she wasn't sure how to respond to him. “Someone will come to see me, but what do you mean, I lied?” she said, slowly.

“You lied about the return,” he said, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. “You were afraid. You needed them to follow.” Starling stared at him for several minutes, her forehead wrinkling, puzzled.

“Thank you for understanding,” was all she could say. If she'd lied, this memory eluded her. She stood up. “I appreciate your company, Cole,” she said, politely but not untruthfully. “I must go now,” she added. He always perplexed her. She usually went to him seeking answers, but always left with more questions. She thought his intentions were good. She didn't always understand, but felt mostly comfortable in his presence.  
  
“I am sorry. You wear the mask. The feathers are beautiful, but he cannot say. Why?” Cole said.

“I don't know,” she said in earnest. “I will see you later, Cole,” Starling said, waving.

“How do you know?” he asked in response. It made her pause.

“I don't, but I hope,” she said. Starling smiled and left the tavern. Cole nodded and vanished from sight. It was... unnerving. Cole always spoke cryptically, but it was not usually in reference to her own personal fears or feelings. Every step she took back to her apartments plagued her with questions. What did he mean? Who was he talking about? Had she been untruthful? She thought on it until her head began to hurt, and she strove to push the worry from her mind.

By the time she got back to her quarters, Leliana, Vivienne, Josephine, a large garment delivery, and two other women awaited her arrival. She recognized the two strangers as the elves who assisted Vivienne's personal tailor. Vivienne recruited her own dressmaker to make gowns for the Royal Ball, as well as other events The Inquisitor should attend. _Dress-up_. _Two mysteries to go_.

Starling recalled the day she met the diminutive tailor, who had caramel skin and long black hair. Lana, as they were named, decorated this long mane with all types of baubles, and wore heavy feathered eyelash extenders that fluttered as they gazed upon her with eyes as dark as a moonless night sky. Lana said nothing to Starling while the elven assistants took her measurements. Instead, Lana paced around the room, and Starling felt as if she were being judged by all the elders in her clan at the same time. Then, Lana said, “I need to see you in action. Do you sing?” Lana's voice was low, and Starling barely understood the words due to a heavy Orlesian accent. Starling looked at Vivienne, hoping the mage would come to her aid. Vivienne just laughed and said, “Go on, darling. Lana always asks one thing of their subject.” Starling didn't remember what she sang; something Dalish. After a few lines, Lana seemed satisfied. Lana smiled at Starling, kissed Vivienne on the cheek, and abruptly left the room, the two assistants trailing quickly behind. Starling looked at Vivienne quizzically, and the mage just smiled in response.

“Lana likes you. The dresses will arrive in a few weeks, I assume,” Vivienne had said. The sound of ladies tittering in the present snapped her from the memory. Her wooden wardrobe was open, and the assistants were hanging cloth wrapped garments inside. A folding shutter had been placed in the room, dividing it into two areas. Leliana pulled her in.

“You're late,” Leliana chided her as she passed Starling off to the assistants. The elves then thrust her unceremoniously behind the folding wooden screen. It was tall enough to provide cover, but short enough so she could peer over the top. She heard Josephine make a tut-tut noise as the assistants turned her around and pulled her clothes off.

“And our lady Inquisitor seems to have found a way to escape her guards... again,” Josephine added, though Starling could hear her Antivan accent was laced with a smile.

“Do try to keep up appearances, darling,” she heard Vivienne's motherly voice chime in. “It is bad enough that you visit that dingy tavern at night. Must you go during the day as well?” Starling barely had time to respond as the elves poked and prodded her into a dress. It was heavy, though well made.

“Now now, let us not chastise our Inquisitor overmuch,” Leliana's clear voice responded. Starling had never heard Leliana sound so playful, _or so very Orlesian_. Starling heard them rustling through boxes as the elven assistants spun her about. “This should be fun! Besides, we have two bottles of champagne and so many pairs of glorious shoes for our precious Starling to model for us!” Starling could not suppress a groan.


	9. Chapter 9

And so she obliged them, dress after dress, shoe after impossible shoe. She even tried on the hats and masks at Leliana's insistence. Orlesians wore masks that represented their noble houses, and Lana designed a mask for The Inquisition, should one be required. The women developed a routine, and Starling would parade around while the ladies judged her on outfit and presentation. _It isn't entirely dissimilar to dressing rituals for Dalish ceremonies_ , Starling reasoned. She'd been bathed and dressed the day she received her vallaslin. Starling found herself enjoying the fabrics; the cuts and colors of the dresses; the way they felt against her skin. She was pleased to see that the designer hadn't given her dresses that were too heavy or cumbersome. Some of them slinked against her while others were tight-laced around her small frame.

Despite expectations, her mood lightened, and she found herself laughing along with them. Vivienne spent most of the time eyeing her from the corner, saying little, though she appeared to be enjoying herself. Whatever the schedule her ledger demanded for the remainder of the morning was abandoned, for they must have spent hours primping and preening. After some time, Starling noticed that the champagne bottles were empty, and Leliana, of all people, looked a little pink in the face. The red maned spy master had cast off her stern cowl, plunked herself down on a loveseat, and was dangling a pair of ornate silk shoes from her feet. She stared at them, giddily. Starling had never seen the woman without her hood, let alone laughing, and realized that she was quite striking. Sera once told her that Leliana “used to play,” and the rumor of Leliana's bardic past was well-known among the Inquisition leadership. Starling had a difficult time imagining their normally stoic spymaster in any light other than hooded shadow. Now, the truth was plain as day.

“Viola would hate these!” Leliana exclaimed, the tinkling of her laughter escaping her pink mouth. She wiggled the toes that peeked out from the shoes. Leliana grew quiet. The room went awkwardly silent, and the only sound was one of the assistants fluffing the fabric of the most recent dress that Starling prepared to model. Starling nervously fiddled with it to avoid gawking at their spymaster, whom Starling had grown to know as caring little for frivolities or smiling too much. It was as if a new person had emerged from beneath a pile of expensive silks, shoes, and champagne. Who was Viola? A friend? Someone from her past? _More than a friend_ , Starling decided. Even Starling could recognize the giggles of a woman smitten. Leliana's smile turned to a frown, and Starling felt a heaviness in the air. Josephine moved to speak, possibly to change the subject, but at this point, Starling's dress was ready for presentation. She stepped out from behind the wooden shutters; a much welcome distraction.

Starling hadn't yet seen a mirror, so she couldn't see the full dress, but as she came around the shutter to display it, Josephine gasped and Vivienne's eyes grew wide. Leliana's small pout turned to a smile again, her unhappiness momentarily at bay. Even the elven assistants, who had been relatively quiet, looked pleased.  
  
“This is the one, darling,” Vivienne declared softly, a small smile touching her lips.

“Maker, I will have to deal with so many proposals for you if you wear that!” Josephine added, her perfect manners expressing equal parts frustration and flattery. Starling felt herself blush as she turned to the mirror.

The gown was A-Line and long, with yards of gathered and scalloped matte black silk. It was accented with dark green; the color of wet leaves, and embellished with a subtle but elegant silver pattern predominantly on the skirt, reminiscent of vines and the vallaslin on her face. The neckline cut in a deep but narrow V, revealing almost her entire breastbone, though there was a slight collar curling up around the back of her neck. Several dark iridescent feathers trimmed her shoulders on capped sleeves. She felt a breeze tickle her back, and turned herself in the mirror to see that most of the skin there was revealed, as the dress had a large diamond-shaped cutout that began at her nape and nearly met her tailbone. Small feathers decorated there as well, mostly clustered around the bottoms of her shoulder blades. She thought it to be the very definition of delicate and understated glamour. Starling fell in love.

The women were murmuring softly about the colors and the quality, and Starling had to admit that she felt absolutely exquisite. Then, she heard the sounds of quiet footsteps padding up the steps to her apartment. Leliana, still seated on the couch, peered over the stairs.

“Ah, we have a guest!” she said, politely, though her face was set back into her familiar mask as she pulled her cowl up to cover her hair. Starling turned from the mirror to see a familiar bald head with a pair of pointed ears come into view. Solas took quick stock of the room, appearing amused at the sight. Josephine approached him in greeting, and the assistants retreated to the far wall. The rest of the women greeted and then stared, curious.

“My apologies,” Solas said. “I was under the impression that our Lady Inquisitor had an open slot in her schedule today. Shall I leave, or do you have time?” Josephine and Leliana looked from Starling to their intruder with raised eyebrows, while Vivienne stared at him as if a stinking pile of manure had been flung at her feet. Starling quickly surveyed the situation, cleared her throat, and found herself speaking.

“I have time, Solas. We have gone far over schedule,” as she spoke, the assistants began to pack up their things. “I can speak with you now.”

“Yes, Lady Inquisitor,” Josephine added. “I will send someone to fetch you for your afternoon appointment. Come, ladies, the fun is over!” she said, her smile warm and genuine. The assistants looked at her expectantly, and she subtly shook her head at them. Starling wanted some practice walking around in this dress, and now was as good a time as ever. She thanked Lana's assistants, and told them to give Lana her regards, informing them that she would be fine to undress herself later. She made a mental note to ask Vivienne what an appropriate Orlesian thank-you gift would be. The two girls, who called themselves Pixie and Sprite, though Starling could not recall which was which, lead themselves out.

“Barging into your quarters without a knock or an appointment?” Vivienne said, loudly enough for all to hear. “What ever will people say, my dear?” Vivienne regarded Solas coldly, and was the last to saunter from the room. Several moments later, Starling found herself alone in her quarters, clad in an ornate ball gown, with Solas eyeing her in that way he did. In that way that studied her but didn't reveal a thought. Intensity; maybe adoration?

“Solas,” she said with an exhale of relief. She was surprised to feel a faint flutter in her chest as their eyes met. The Inquisitor made a gesture for him to sit. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Starling continued, and she found herself speaking with the formal and flattering tone of a diplomat. Josie was teaching her well. Her lethallin was clad in simple linen, and a dark hooded cloak hung loosely from his shoulders. She found that odd, as he didn't appear to leave the keep much, save when she bade him.

“The pleasure has become my own. I haven't seen such a lovely sight in … a very long time,” Solas replied. “Vivienne knows her way around taste. I assume you prepare to be surrounded by nobility?” Starling nodded.

“This one is for the royal ball. I never thought I'd enjoy such lavishness.” She brushed her fingers along the silver embellishments. “They are spoiling me,” she added, smiling. Solas took a few steps closer, and Starling noticed he carried a thin leather bound book.

“May I?” he said, softly. She didn't know what he meant, but as he drew near she felt the familiar caress of his magic, and smelled the cedar of him. She nodded. He stood close to her, peering intently at the gown. He walked completely around her, and she stood perfectly still as a soft hum escaped his throat when he was out of her sights. His reaction was a reminder of the back of her dress, which was cut to reveal a significant amount of freckled skin. It felt like he studied her for an hour, though it couldn't have been more than several seconds. When he returned to her front, he nodded in approval. “I know nothing of Orlesian fashion, but I can tell you this tailor has quite the eye.” His hand reached up and slender fingers brushed lightly against the wisps of feathers at her shoulder. He smiled that small smile. “I have nearly forgotten why I came,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. His eyes were soft and violet, boring into hers as they often did.

For a moment, Starling imagined herself as a woman from the happy ending of some human tale. A beautiful queen preparing for an exquisite party; the love of her life waiting for her at the bottom of a grand staircase, dressed in finery and kisses. She felt the urge to ask Solas to attend the ball with her as her escort. They would be presented together for the whole world to see. He would be her partner. They would dance, and then he would bond with her under the starlight in the way of her people. But this was not a fairy story, and the ball, a place for business, not love. She cleared her throat.

“Perhaps we can invent another reason,” she said, her voice low in return; her small lips forming a smirk. She felt herself take a slight step toward him, the power of the gown, the champagne, and the fantasy of a different life inspiring boldness. He inhaled quickly.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, his voice growing slightly coarse. Then, he cleared his throat in turn, and his tone turned lyrical. “But first, I must speak with you,” he said, his brows furrowing slightly. She lowered her head, but the smirk did not leave her face. She nodded and gestured for him to sit. Starling took a seat on the couch, the fabric of her dress made lovely swishing sounds as she practiced walking in it. He lowered himself into a stuffed chair adjacent, his legs facing her. A small table sat between them. An empty champagne glass and a snuffed lamp decorated it. She flicked her fingers, and a flame flickered at the wick, lighting the lamp.

Since their arrival at Skyhold, Starling hardly had time to rest, and as she feared, she rarely had time to speak at length with anyone other than her advisers. Solas predominantly kept to his solar near the library, always studying or painting. He was a clean artist. She never saw any evidence of it on his skin, save that time he sketched in a cave for her on their journey to Skyhold, and the charcoal had smudged on his high cheekbone. She made quick visits to stare at his art, entranced, and she found herself sharing wordless glances with him when she hoped no one was looking. Today, he laid the closed book on his lap, and she stared at him, expectantly. _He'll come to you today. He needs to understand why you lied._ The memory of Cole's earnest voice from that morning echoed in her ears. His mouth turned serious from the smile it held moments ago.

“I read your report,” he said as his fingers traced the pointed corner of the front cover. Starling made a sound through closed lips.

“My report? Which one?” she asked. Starling blinked and made a move to rub her forehead, but placed her hands in her lap instead. “I can't take a trip to the privy without filling one out,” she grumbled in an attempt to hide her confusion and nervousness. _He needs to understand why you lied._ She stood up, and the fabric of the gown fell into place perfectly around her.Its beauty would have to be her armor. She approached her modest wine cabinet. “Drink?” she offered. He nodded, and she poured them each a glass of wine. It was red and thick. Her new favorite. The Inquisition spared no expense.

“A report on your survival after Haven,” he said, opening the book and flipping through the pages. There were only a few dedicated to that particular story. She swished her way back to the loveseat, gingerly placing his glass on the table. Starling took a sip of the wine. It was Orlesian, and the taste of smoke and black current lingered on the tip of her tongue. Dorian had been teaching her how to enjoy and taste wine. She wondered idly how many of her clan would now call her shemlen. She swallowed and examined Solas curiously. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of her balcony window, and the candlelight next to them gave his skin a soft glow. Shadows danced behind him, rejoicing in his presence. Maybe she shouldn't drink this wine. She set her glass down on the table between them.

“Creators, that feels like ages ago,” she said after a pause. “What about it?”

“It is curious,” he began. “Your account states you were attacked by a demon in The Fade. And you tore the veil, sending it through.” She nodded as he spoke, and her eyes found their way to his mouth as they often did.

“Yes,” she said. “It worries me that I set that demon upon the world. Though there are no reports that it has been found. Leliana has assured me her people are on it.” Solas shook his head.

“The spirit does not concern me,” he said, swirling the wine around in the glass. “I'm curious what happened next.” Starling felt her face get warm. She made another “Hm” sound through closed lips

“I assume my handwriting is legible?” she said, in a poor attempt to dodge this line of questioning. He nodded, waiting.

“Is there anything that you left out?” he asked quietly. He reached over and covered her hand with his own. “Lethallan, I do not intend to pry. If there is more information that you could give on your trip to The Fade, it can help us study The Mark,” he said, his voice soft. Starling's eyes fell to their hands, his lightly calloused fingers ran along her red knuckles. Then she looked up, her indigo green eyes examining his, trying to discern his intent. He caught her. She didn't know how, or why. She hadn't thought anyone would think anything of that report, least of all Solas. He had his fingers in more Inquisition pies than she'd originally considered. Even then, she didn't understand why he'd suspect... She sighed, acceding. There was no hiding it from him.  
  
“How did you know?” she asked quietly.

“A layperson or one more inexperienced than I would not question your tale,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. He let it linger in his mouth for a moment. “But it is missing some key details. How you came to terms with closing the rift. How you found your way back to consciousness. You describe in detail the demon you faced, but the story ends abruptly after. You ask no questions. It is quite unlike you.” He gave her a quick and small smile, “It is uncharacteristically brief, for someone who knows you as well as I.” She looked down at their entwined hands again. _Very well._ She withdrew and stood up, abandoning her wine glass to the table. Starling took several steps toward the balcony. He followed.

It was a chilly afternoon, though no colder than usual. Her hands found the stone banister and she gripped it, gazing down upon the keep. She heard the sounds of the soldiers training hard below, and there were many workers bustling about, patching the battlements, chopping firewood, tending to each others needs. The guards patrolled their fortifications, and the keep hummed with excitement, trusting that their Inquisitor; their Herald; Starling, the Dalish elf of clan Lavellan; would take care of them and do everything right.

“I'm not sure that what happened after I faced the demon will explain anything more about The Mark,” she began as he stepped beside her. She could feel his magic on him today, thicker than usual. He said nothing, waiting for her to continue. She sighed, and told him everything. She told him how a spirit had lead her out of The Fade, a majestic wolf who somehow saved her life. She did not fear it, though she did still wonder about this presence. She knew she had unwittingly made some kind of deal with it, though she wasn't sure if it was the type to cash in on debts. She had seen this spirit a few times since, mostly during her nightmares. “I did not submit it in my report for many reasons,” she turned to him, hoping he would understand. His brow had furrowed while listening to her tale, and when he finally spoke his voice was impassioned, determined.  
  
“It is crucial that others know spirits are benevolent. By hiding this experience, you make it easier for others to condemn us. To condemn mages,” he said. He spoke passionately, but his voice was surprisingly free of judgment. She nodded in agreement. He was right, partially.  
  
“I know,” she said. “But they are not ready, Solas! I am the Herald of Andraste! I do not believe it, of course, but these people do! I wasn't thinking about spirits when I wrote. I was overwhelmed by their faith, their trust in a Dalish Mage of all people.” She gestured to the courtyard below. “What would they say if they knew that some wolf spirit lead me out of The Fade? Never mind what the Dalish would say if they knew. You know what the wolf means; what the wolf symbolizes to my people.” He nodded, his face turning grim. His lips pursed tightly, as if he willed them to keep a harsh statement trapped behind them. She was glad for it. They stood in silence for a moment. “What do you think?” she said after a moment. Solas placed his hands on the railing and looked off into the distance.

“Did you get any impressions of this spirit? Did it communicate with you in any way?” he asked. Starling shook her head.

“I felt it was powerful. Possibly dangerous, but, ultimately, I do not fear it,” she said. She tried not to dwell too much on this spirit, for she theorized that by thinking of it constantly, she might summon or alert it to her presence when she visited The Fade. She was not like Solas. She did not attempt to make friends out of spirits, and instead opted to maintain appropriate observational distance. “I was exhausted and weak. If it wanted to hurt me, it could have. But it was kind to me. It protected me, for whatever reason. If it decides to someday reveal more of itself, I will be able to judge it further.”  
  
“I agree,” he said, a short and quiet response. He turned toward her. “This omission is not what I would have done, but I understand. Your thoughtfulness never ceases to surprise me. That Mark is not the sole reason why we follow you.” She exhaled, blushing. “You do what you deem necessary, and that is commendable.” Starling reached over and took his hand. She'd missed the feeling of it.

“I would not be here if it weren't for you,” she confessed. Her heart thudded in her chest as he brought his eyes to meet hers. “You have been a constant line of support, Solas. I cherish our friendship,” she added slowly. As she looked into his eyes she had that feeling of time stopping; as if there were no one else in the world but the two of them. She was reminded of how she felt when he took her into The Fade. “I have missed you,” she whispered and she unconsciously drew close to him, her short fingers interlacing with his calloused ones. In turn, he reached out with his free hand and touched her hair near her ears, running his fingers through it like he had so many times before when they lay together in the dark. They had barely touched since their trip to Skyhold. With intimacy returned, Starling could feel the heat flushing her face.

“Your hair in the sunlight,” he said, his voice low and breathy, “is so dark it is nearly blue.” She raised an eyebrow in response, eyeing him coyly. It was now his turn to move forward, and he did so, slowly, tentatively. The hand she held began to slide up her wrist to her forearm, pulling her more to him. She tilted her chin up, and he leaned down to her. She could feel his magic, earthy and beyond, mingling with hers, storm and fire. _Just one kiss,_ she thought. _Harmless. Just one_. The blood rushed in her ears as they drew ever closer, and she could feel his breath on her as she slid her free arm around his waist, behind his back. The muscles there were tense. Their mouths were now inches apart, and she could feel her entire being get hot with the anticipation of something she'd wanted for so long. Something she had denied herself, and should still.

There was a knock at the door, and Starling jumped back. There was a faint popping sound as their entwined magics dissipated abruptly. He flashed her a knowing smile and looked toward the door. The hand that had been holding his jumped to her forehead, pushing her hair back habitually. She smoothed down her ballgown and cleared her throat.

“Enter!” she called, her voice cracking. Solas flashed a rare open-mouthed mocking smile at the sound of her losing composure. She narrowed her eyes at him, only partially in jest as she made her way into the room. It was Nissa, her primary servant.

“Your guest is set to arrive soon for your luncheon, my Lad- I mean, Starling,” Nissa said softly, though she smiled upon remembering for the first time that Starling forbid her closest servants from calling her anything but her name. Starling smiled at her in response.

“Thank you, Nissa. Please tell Josephine I will be down momentarily,” Starling replied, finally finding her proper Inquisitor voice. Nissa nodded and left the room. Her feet made no noise as she crept down the stairs. Nissa was extremely silent, and Starling briefly wondered if she belonged to Leliana. Sighing, she turned to Solas.

“I must-” she started,

“Go,” he finished for her. “Yes,” he continued, nodding. Solas crossed the room in the direction of the staircase, and then turned to face her. “May I see you tonight?” he asked softly.

“Yes!” Starling blurted. “I mean, I will see if my schedule is clear,” she said, correcting herself in a futile attempt at nonchalance. The right side of his mouth quirked.

“I didn't mean _here_ , emm'asha,” he said, even quieter than before. His violet eyes bored into hers again in an intense smolder as she took a step toward him. “I have something to show you.”

“I'm sure my dreaming schedule is quite clear,” she responded after she deciphered his meaning. He took her hand, and bent down to brush his lips lightly upon her knuckles.

“Tonight then,” he said, and he turned to go. Starling's face flashed with realization and embarrassment as she quickly reached around to the back of her dress.

“Solas, wait!” she said, and she worried her face was, at this very moment, turning an incredible shade of tomato red. She fumbled with the fabric, and found no way out of this gown. She'd been a fool to send Nissa away. He turned and saw her, a small smirk graced his lips. “I'm afraid I'm not familiar with these human gowns,” she said in a huff, hoping to disguise her nervousness with annoyance, though the annoyance was not feigned. Her irritation was, however, far more at herself than at the beautiful dress. He nodded his head at her and made a motion for her to spin around. She did as he bade, and the gooseflesh erupted on her skin as she felt his hands gliding through the fabric of the skirt. _I could have sent Solas to fetch Nissa_ , she realized. _But I didn't, because I want this_.

“Ah!” he said, happy to solve the puzzle. “It is here!” She barely felt his hands on her, but the skirt immediately fell loose. He gingerly held the pieces together and instructed her on where to place her hands. Her own were shaking as she grasped the fabric. She looked up into his eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, hoping the she hadn't blushed terribly. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then changed his mind. He then backed away.

“Find me,” he finally replied. There was a mischievous look of youth twinkling in his eyes. With that, he turned and left the room.

 


	10. Chapter 10

The rest of the day inched along. She slid out of the gown and into black silk breeches with a matching buttoned top. It was casual, but formal enough for a late daytime lunch meeting with a Ferelden noble. He was a devout man who wanted to pledge some of his troops and negotiate a trade agreement with The Inquisition. Normally, Josephine handled this sort of deal on her own, but Bann Germont Darry of South Reach insisted on meeting The Inquisitor personally in some form of old Ferelden custom. He'd traveled all the way from his home, and Starling was reminded again by Vivienne that these types of meetings were paramount, lateness included. Starling hated being late. The Dalish viewed tardiness as a huge insult, or a source of great worry, but apparently Orlesians and dog lords alike saw some kind of merit in it.

“Big fancy men wavin' 'round little fancy dicks seem more like it, right?” Sera had muttered during one of The First Enchanter's lectures. Starling could not hide her guffaw, though Vivienne would not be dissuaded. Today, Starling waited outside a small dining solar while Vivienne practically physically held her back until it was deemed fashionable.

The luncheon was short, and Bann Darry seemed not a bad sort. He was properly deferential and lordly with exquisite manners. He was also not at all as old or homely as she thought he'd be, considering all she knew of him was his Andrastrian conservatism. He greeted her with respect, and spoke with her as if he didn't see her pointed ears or the scrollwork of her vallaslin. His eyes were dark and Starling found them to be quite lovely. At the end of their lunch, he pledged his militia to The Inquisition, should their need permit. He also agreed to lend whatever aid he could in the means of gold, favors, or goods. He kissed Starling's hand upon his exit, and invited her to join him at his holdings in South Reach for a hunt in the spring. She'd given a flattering but ambiguous answer, as she'd been instructed. He seemed satisfied, and that was that.

After he was escorted out, Josephine smiled and scratched a few notes on her ledger. “It is good you are unmarried. We can use it,” she said. Starling felt her eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Do not trouble yourself, Herald,” Josephine continued, waving her delicate hand dismissively. “Bann Darry's interest in our cause does not depend on it. Though your status does offer... Extra incentive,” she said, tactfully as always. Starling chewed on the inside of her lip but said nothing in response. She'd heard that Empress Celene faced opposition on many sides, but her refusal to marry was a great political burden that ultimately lead to the current uprising in Orlais. Starling was not so brash as to compare herself to a grand empress of an ancient empire, but she hoped she would not receive the same pressure. Wars had begun over far less, and they were not in the position to involve themselves in another.

“I'll be in the yard,” was her final response. Starling had several hours before sunset and she wanted to hit something. She usually found her way to the training yard at least once a day, if her schedule permitted. She sometimes trained with Cullen's Templars; allowing them to practice combating her magic, and giving pointers to soldiers without Templar training. Some of them were quite skilled, and often tired her out quicker than expected. Recently, she'd sparred their great Commander Cullen, much to the pleasure of the troops and the mages. Friendly wagers were placed and taunts from all sides were shouted as she'd chosen a training staff, and he his practice sword and shield. She'd never forget the curious grin he wore as he waved to the crowd, encouraging their participation. Cullen was a friendly man, and his confident demeanor and unaffected attitude had earned the fierce loyalty of the soldiers in his command. As a fighter, he was more than capable, though his defense against her spells far surpassed his offensive skills. She found that comforting. Cullen hadn't been out in the field as recently or as often as she, which proved to be his downfall, but he still gave her quite a thrashing. She had won, barely, before they both practically collapsed to the ground with exhaustion, earning cheers from the mages. Starling heard the clinking of coin exchanging hands as she helped Cullen stand. He shook her hand and promised a rematch, earning counter cheers from the Templars.

She giggled to herself as she observed him over the next week, practicing some kind of Templar move guaranteed to silence and temporarily obfuscate her connection to The Fade. Outwardly, she laughed, though she did fear their next match might result in her loss. In a strange way, she hoped it would. It wasn't that Starling particularly wanted to lose, but rather she enjoyed the challenge and the process of battle. Starling had always been more fascinated by mechanics than results. The glint of an eye; the sharp intake of breath; a subtle twist of the hip; the way a warrior held his shield and the look on his face just before impact. These were the parts that excited her during matches. When she was young, she'd beg the elders to tell certain parts of stories over and over, though never the endings. She hated endings. She wanted the middles, the good parts that showed the players placing their pieces. She also wanted the people to see Cullen and the rest of her advisers as invaluable, as she saw them. Besting her in combat after losing would undoubtedly increase morale.

Starling changed and found herself dancing with a practice dummy, trying to perfect a move that one of the Bull's Chargers had taught her. This Charger was an elf, aptly nicknamed, “Dalish.” Though Dalish swore up and down she was an archer, she taught Starling quite a few moves with a practice staff. Starling could smell the magic on her, all basil and deathroot and citrus. She didn't ask her from which clan she hailed, and her fighting style was a “hodge-podge of pain,” she said, her vallaslin curling into smiles that mimicked her lips. Starling was surprised to learn much from Dalish, and today she attempted to master some kind of knock-back-escape combination that involved planting the staff, and drawing on Fade magic to pull the enemy close. When the attacker was drawn in, the staff was then used as a pole vault to bear Starling's weight, enabling her to kick her opponent, focusing a pulse of kinetic magic to push the attacker off of their feet while at the same time, allowing Starling to back flip away, potentially unharmed. Then, from a distance, she'd have range to fire whatever spell she desired to finish them off. The “force flip” was the part that Dalish made look particularly easy. Starling did not excel in that type of magic, and she was envious of those who were. This move was not only extremely effective when executed correctly, insisted Dalish, but was also incredibly flashy. She hoped it would be enough for Cullen, for the Red Templars, for Corypheus.

She dined that evening in the tavern with Varric and Cole. She'd hoped to see Blackwall, but he didn't appear. She made a note to go visit him tomorrow, as he'd seemed withdrawn; far more than usual lately. Cole didn't eat, but paced around them unassumingly. Starling didn't say much, for she enjoyed the conversation. She was exhausted from her day, and Varric was always willing to entertain her when she needed to listen instead of speak. Cole's fascination with Varric's stories was endless, and though the friendship was unexpected, Starling thought they were good influences on each other. Cole was the little brother Varric never had, and Starling got the feeling that Varric's older sibling, Bartrand, was not a particularly fuzzy bunny. Varric had a way of interacting with Cole that made him more visible somehow.

When she finished, she joined her advisers for their semi-regular end-of-day debriefing. It was the one meeting that Starling herself had insisted upon. She also insisted it to be informal. It allowed the five to decompress and voice any concerns, problems, or victories at the end of the day. They alternated meeting locations based on individual choice. Tonight, was Josie's. Starling yawned as she wandered down the dark hallways of a wing she rarely visited. As she opened the heavy door to the solar, she heard Josephine ranting on the quality of the lunch they'd served Bann Darry. Starling poured herself a glass of wine. She usually enjoyed these casual discussions, but tonight she could not be distracted from what lay before her in The Fade. What did he need to say? She'd seen the way he looked at her in that ball gown. He had to be at least as tempted as she. Could she resist his advances? Would he resist her if she tried? Or was it more ominous? Was he leaving, now that The Inquisition was established? Had he given all he could?

“Mm, yes, I agree. Inquisitor, what do you think?” Cassandra's assertive tone interrupted her thoughts, and Starling felt immediate guilt. She frowned in apology.

“I am sorry, I was...” Starling began.

“Lost in thought, I see,” Leliana interjected, tilting her head and staring at Starling as if they shared a secret. “Daydreaming about the ball?” Leliana asked, though the question sounded rhetorical. Josephine smiled, Cassandra remained neutral, and Cullen studied the two of them with a visage of confusion painting his handsome features. There was something about the way Leliana spoke that made Starling pause. Did she know something? Starling flushed slightly and acquiesced.

“In a way,” she responded, proud of herself at quickly adapting to the Orlesian “answer that is not an answer” technique. If they were going to force these human customs upon her, she could pay them in kind.

“I suggest we adjourn and continue this tomorrow,” Leliana said. “After The Inquisitor has had a good night's sleep.” The final words of that phrase rolled slowly off her tongue. Starling examined the spymaster. Nothing in her countenance betrayed her as saying anything other than a simple statement of concern over their leader's sleeping habits; her hair and part of her face shadowed by a hood. However, the subtle change in her voice told Starling one thing. She knew. Starling had no idea how. She and Solas were alone in the room together, but, somehow, she knew! Starling was flummoxed, and extremely impressed. It was not the first time that she was grateful their spymaster was on their side, and she was certain it would not be the last. She wondered if Leliana could somehow speak the language of insects, for that was the only possible solution. She also wondered why Leliana was sharing this secret. For her privacy, perhaps? Or was she just boasting? _She used to play_. Perhaps it was purely for the former bard's own amusement. Whatever the reason, it would not be known now. Starling yawned and stretched, and surprised herself that this motion was not an act.

“Yes, thank you. I think it's for the best,” Starling admitted, opting to play along. The candles in the room flickered as Josephine began to snuff them, and Starling swore that Leliana gave a quick wink before she turned and exited the room. Josephine bid her goodnight and Cullen held the door for her as she exited, leaving the spymaster and the seeker behind.

“I saw you in the yard today, Lavellan,” Cullen commented, stepping alongside her as they strolled the halls back to their quarters. Cullen couldn't quite call her by her informal first name, so she'd offered him the compromise of her clanname. “Think that fancy apostate trick is going to best me?” he grinned, and the shadows on his face accented the scar above his lip; his white teeth gleaming along with his eyes. She thought they were brown, but in the darkness they seemed almost black.

“Oh, Cullen,” she chuckled in response. “Is your pride still singed?”

“Better my pride than my eyebrows,” he quipped, smiling. His fingers brushed his left eyebrow where one of her misfired spells had wreaked small havoc.

“I'm sure they'll grow back. We need you in top shape for the ball!” She laughed again. She thought he was blushing, but it was too dark to say. “Oh, didn't you hear? Josephine plans to marry us all off to nobles across Thedas,” she added gleefully. She heard him swallow loudly.

“If that is the case, make sure you get me right in the face next time,” he said wryly. “I'll even give you a free shot.”

“Are you telling me I'll need it?” Starling responded, narrowing her eyes.

“Indeed,” he said, boasting. “And I will as well, to frighten off these potential suitors.” He shuddered in horror.   
  
“Deal,” she said, sticking out her hand. He shook it firmly, their pact sealed.

After bidding him goodnight, Starling climbed the steps to her chambers. As she changed into a soft cotton sleeping shift, her heart instantly clenched and proceeded to flutter in her chest. _Find me_. His voice echoed in her mind and she felt an involuntary shiver. _How am I possibly going to get to sleep?!_ She paced around the room, cursing herself for agreeing to see him; her bare feet padding between the stone floor and thick rug. The last time they'd traveled to The Fade together, it took everything she had to contain herself. And then it was over, but it never really began. _In my heart, it was so real._ She'd felt no restraint, no self consciousness. It was as if they were in their own little world. But it wasn't their world. She shouldn't go. Don't go. _Don't go!_ But she promised she would. Starling eyed the black and green dress that hung innocently from the hook on the inside of her wardrobe.

“This is all your fault,” she said to it accusingly. The rude dress said nothing, its silver accents taunting her in the moonlight. She pulled a small tea set from a shelf. She tossed a few herbs into the cup, along with a sprinkle of lyrium. As she heated the water with fire from the palm of her hand, she sighed loudly. It was hot, but she downed it in one quick swallow. _I am a weak woman_ , she decided. She lay down in her bed and sent herself to the beyond.


	11. Chapter 11

Though she drank the lyrium tea, it still took her quite some time to fall asleep. Thoughts of the consequences of seeing him again rushed through her mind. The memory of the feeling of his fingers lightly brushing her skin; the sensation of their two magics twining together; the heat between them; caused her to toss and turn; eager to sleep but unable to fall. She tried to calm her head, focusing on her breathing. Her paltry meditation techniques eventually worked, and when she opened her eyes, she found herself. The song of The Fade was louder than she'd ever heard. The longer they spent in Skyhold, the more active it became. The 'place where the sky is kept' was a center of power for The People. Spirits lingered here, whispering hums among the ruins. With the arrival of so many mages, The Fade crescendoed into a symphony, bright with song. Starling had never seen so many crowds. Pink wispy spirits of hope glided in the air alongside armored spirits of justice. Pulsing swirls of spirits of art played games with spirits of beauty. Noisy spirits of song danced around smiling spirits of wisdom, while frantic spirits of mischief darted between. She wondered if this was the life of the ancient elves of Arlathan. She couldn't imagine the mages here were in any danger. She wished Vivienne could see.

She'd learned so much more about The Fade since she gained The Mark and joined The Inquisition. Her Keeper was a great teacher who possessed vast knowledge, but the isolation of their culture ensured a singular type of teaching. The Inquisition increased her knowledge base a thousandfold. In her life before, Starling only interacted with a handful of mages; and never more than two at one time. She now had contacts with libraries all over Thedas, and the rebel mages she'd taken as allies had their own unique experiences. Starling thought that this aspect of Circle life might not have been so terrible. Was the circle tower's version of The Fade this majestic? What did the mages get up to while their Templars slept? The thought of templars brought the circle's faults to the forefront of her mind; taking children from their families, forbidding certain types of knowledge instead of nurturing, surprising apprentices with their Harrowing, and worst of all, Tranquility. Vivienne insisted that Circle life was not nearly so restrictive as that. Vivienne strove for everything she gained; a life of relative freedom and decadent luxury. Other mages were not so fortunate. Then again, did the Dalish treat their mages any better? _No, we submitted to Chantry law in order to survive; just like everyone else_. Starling frowned. _Solas and Dorian must be rubbing off on me,_ she thought. These thoughts had plagued her as a young First in training, but the troubles seemed so abstract back then. Now, she had placed herself in the center of it all.

Her travels in The Fade grew different as of late. Starling found herself flitting from place to place with ease, as if she were a child again. Her movements were easy, though uncontrolled. Unlike her childhood adventures in The Fade, and much to her great fascination and surprise, Starling found herself wandering into other people's dream spaces. The first time it occurred, it disturbed her immensely. Recalling the experience made her skin crawl.

Sera was not exactly on friendly terms with mages. Starling still blanched when she remembered the first time she met the Red Jenny of Val Royeaux. Sera was obviously not Dalish, but it had been so long since Starling had seen an elf armed with a bow. Or maybe Sera reminded her of someone. For whatever reason, she'd greeted the blonde elf in full Dalish tradition, and Starling thought Sera's eyes would roll out of her skull in response. Out of all the people in Thedas, Sera was the last person Starling thought she would see in The Fade. Yet, the first time Starling felt the sensation of being pulled into a dream, there she was. When she'd stumbled upon Sera in The Fade, Starling found her running in the midst of a nightmare; being chased by something unidentifiable; pure blackness. She couldn't really make it out, but seeing the normally cheeky and blunt elf paralyzed with fear was disconcerting, to say the least. However, upon seeing Starling, Sera seemed agitated. The mysterious darkness vanished.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Sera had exclaimed, her hazel eyes piercing hers in anger. Starling thought that was quite odd. Non-mages were not conscious during their visits to The Fade. A normal person would have just assumed Starling's arrival was part of their dream. But the way Sera glared at The Inquisitor implied cognizance, and showed great disgust. _She knows I'm not supposed to be here_ , Starling thought. In hindsight, Starling wished she had pretended it was normal, or responded in just about any other way than she actually did. In her haste and surprise, Starling panicked. She ran, and it was only later that she fully realized what had happened; She had wandered into Sera's dream. It was a violation, and it did not sit well. She and Sera never spoke of the occurrence. Starling had not seen Sera in The Fade since.

After that night, Starling found herself wandering into other dream spaces. Once she'd even encountered a couple of mages under the open sky, half clothed and breathless in an amorous embrace. Luckily, Starling was able to hop out of their dream while they were so entangled in one another. They did not notice. Slowly, she grew accustomed to this new power, and as her skill improved, she noticed the small tears or doorways that lead to others dreams. It was almost as if The Fade became a large tome, and she could flip through the pages of individual dreams, diving into their stories if she chose. This ability was unlike anything she had ever heard. The potential power of this new-found ability made her feel very uneasy. She decided to keep it secret until she knew more, and took to subtly researching in her quarters. A strange word stuck out in her studies; Somniari: Dreamer. Little was recorded about dreamers, and much that she found was tragic. She wondered if The Mark had somehow given her dream-walking abilities. She hadn't tried to enter The Fade without her special Lyrium Tea, though after her encounter with Corypheus, she'd been tossed into The Fade unwillingly. At first Starling assumed she might have made contact with residual lyrium or magic, or maybe the trauma had pushed her to The Beyond. She did suppose it was entirely possible that The Mark had bestowed this power on the same day it gave her the ability to open tears in The Veil. She had too many suppositions, and not enough answers. She really needed to speak with Solas.

_Solas. Intelligent. Handsome. Lonesome. He smells of earth and rifts. Where are you?_

She felt a pull in her chest. A tug in a direction neither up nor down nor left nor right. She flipped the pages, the image of their beach flashing in her mind's eye and flitting away as quickly as it arrived. _No. Not there_. The beach was replaced with a pulsing green light. Sickly. The Breach. Her immediate impulse was to close the dream book and try again. She took a breath, calming herself, and focused on his dream, her heart pounding; hands tingling with excitement and fear. The image grew, and she felt a strange sensation. Was she floating? Perhaps. And then she was there. _Haven._ The familiar sounds of camp and horses. The wooden cottages and large stone Chantry. She saw no people, but she heard them, chattering and moving about. Above it all loomed the breach, an angry scar marring the evening sky. The home she'd lost. And there he was.

“I have found you!” Starling announced, slightly breathless from the journey. His lips quirked into a small smile and their eyes locked in greeting.

“You are faster than expected,” he said. Upon seeing him there, dressed in his simple tunic and thin cotton breeches the color of the forest, her apprehension of Haven faded.

“Should I come back later?” she asked in jest, approaching him. He smiled and shook his head.  
  
“It's quite alright. I'm ready to be caught,” he replied. He looked the same as he had the last time they'd traveled The Fade together; free of worry and restraint. He gestured for her to take a turn with him. She stepped forward, accepting.

They walked together toward the edge of the icy lake. Everything was as she remembered, though there were no people or spirits there. The image was so detailed, much more so than the dreams of any other. She felt the urge to run; to taste the air of Haven one last time. As they neared the lake, Starling left his side and found herself rushing onto the ice, her thin shoes sliding around on the surface of the lake, plowing the snow into tiny white mountain ridges.

“You knew I could find you in your dream,” Starling said, her statement asking the question without asking. She watched the pattern that her shoes made in the snow, and kicked a chunk of ice. It clattered across the ice and slid several feet away.

“How long have you been able to dream walk?” he asked, placing a foot gingerly onto the ice before changing his mind and staying on the shore.

“Since we arrived in Skyhold. After... After everything,” she replied. She spun in a circle and stopped, looking over to him. He folded his arms across his chest, and then reached a hand up to rub his forehead.

“I have learned little of other Dreamers. I hope dreams have not troubled you,” Solas continued. “Have you been having the nightmares?” Starling shook her head and continued to spin in a circle on the ice. The conversation was serious, and her memories of Haven were bleak, but somehow she felt safe and detached from reality. She felt a slight vertigo as her foot caught a small snag in the ice. She stumbled, but caught herself before falling completely. She should feel embarrassed, but she didn't. _Other Dreamers_ , she thought.

“Sometimes,” she said. Starling didn't want to think about the nightmares. “Did you discover more information about The Mark?” she asked, changing the subject. She slid her way back to him and stepped off of the icy surface and onto land. Solas shook his head.

“Your reading habits as of late have given you away,” he said, his eyes smiling knowingly. Starling was shocked, though she knew she shouldn't be.

“Nothing gets by you, does it?” she asked, not quite smiling.

“Only when I'm sleeping,” he said, and she thought she saw brief sadness in his eyes. She wasn't sure what he meant by that. The air hung still as she waited for him to expand upon that thought. He did not, and she continued.

“The first time it happened, I saw Sera,” Starling said, bowing her head slightly in shame. Now, it felt real. “It was an accident, though I think she recognized me. She seemed to know, somehow, that I was there.” As she spoke, she looked down at the muddy beach. The mud was a squishy vibrant brown, interspersed with small brown stones. She again nearly forgot where she was. His dream was incredibly vivid.

“She knew it was a dream, and you were not supposed to see,” Solas filled in, as if unsurprised. “Of course, I suspected as much.”

“What do you mean? Do you think...” Starling couldn't get the words out.

“Yes. I suspect that she has talent for magic. Even Vivienne agrees.” Starling searched her mind and found nothing. She could feel magic on some mages, but not all. It was as if some people had a song that she could not hear. Solas's magic was strong on her, while Vivienne's was more delicate; lilies and lavender. Her Keeper's magic was most familiar; the smell of vanilla and the feeling of cotton. Dorian's was orange and spice; cloves and warm sunset. Then there were others, like grand enchanter Fiona, from whom she felt not an inkling. It could not be a reflection of power, for she knew Fiona to be strong in magic from all accounts. Perhaps their suspicions of Sera were correct. Starling couldn't help but find herself annoyed.

“Do you know everything?” she asked, hiding her annoyance behind a laugh. “I am fortunate to have the best advisers. Now, if you all would stop making me learn table manners, I'm sure I would be just as wise,” she said, smiling. Her annoyance faded as she gazed upon his concerned face. He turned serious, though the ease of The Fade was still present.

“There are many things that I do not know. There is one thing of which I'm sure,” Solas held out his arm and she took it, gladly. He lead her to the place where they first met, though she did not remember. He'd studied the mark on her hand while she lay on a hard dirt floor, manacled and sweating as The Mark slowly killed her. He spoke of their first meeting and it was so vivid she'd half expected to see herself there; chained behind the bars. The first of many jails in which The Inquisition tried to keep her.

“I saw your face, the vallaslin, worn proud and mixed with dirt,” he said. “Out of all those who attended The Conclave, out of all of those who died, one of our people lived. She carried a magic never before seen.” He sounded tired again, a small sadness lay behind his eyes.

“So you were not enraptured by my beauty. That's hard to believe, considering I was caked in mud, unconscious, and smelled worse than stables,” she said in an attempt to lighten the mood. She silently chastised herself. He was trying to tell her something important, and she'd turned this visit into a shameless flirtation.

“I was not enraptured as of yet, no,” he replied, sharing that secret smile of his. He continued to explain how he and Cassandra fought over Starling, and she tried to imagine their arguments. It was not difficult. Cassandra was a harsh woman, with little patience for apostates... or... Patience, in general. He chuckled as she explained her various strategies she had employed to appease the stoic woman. Getting Solas to laugh was rare, and Starling relished the opportunity. She thought she was getting quite good at it. He lead her by the arm, and back outside toward the center of the camp. The sickly green rift tainted the sky above them. He explained he was ready to flee The Inquisition. He couldn't agree with the leadership, and he did not think they had it in them to close the breach. _He is leaving us_ , she realized. _He held my hand and nearly kissed me, but he brought me here to say goodbye_.

“You can't run from it. Where will you go?” she said, softly, finding her voice. She looked up at him, her indigo-green eyes unable to hide their pleading. His own soft eyes, nearly silver, studied her carefully, and his dark brow wrinkled in surprise. He reached out to take her hand in his. His hand was warm, and his fingers slightly rough with callouses.

“Starling,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “I could not go, not after I met you...” She felt her face flush with heat. He wasn't leaving. He was... “All the hours I'd spent trying to find a way to seal the breach. You woke and sealed it with a gesture.” The memory of their first touch flooded her mind, but it was off; hazy. She saw … Herself. She saw herself through his eyes, and though she was clad in a dirty tunic, with snarled mats of hair, a dirt caked face, and clutching a “borrowed” old and gnarled staff; She was beautiful. “Right then, I felt the whole world change,” he continued. He looked at her with such earnestness; such reverence. She could swear no one had ever looked at her like that before. She took a tentative step closer to him, bringing their hands down together, still entwined, and floating gently around their thighs.

“You change... everything.” The smiles had left his lips and she thought his ears tinged pink with the statement. He turned his face from her, as if embarrassed. Though Starling could not imagine him being embarrassed of anything. She felt her heart clench in her chest, as if it had stopped, and the goose flesh prickled all along her body in a new and exciting sensation. And just as she had feared, she was unable to hold herself back. There would be no stolen glances, tentative touches, or bashful smiles as there had had been in their brief meeting on the balcony that day. Instead, Starling reached up with a firm but gentle hand. She placed her fingers on his sharp jawline, turned his face toward her, and, standing on her toes, pressed her lips to his. He was still with shock when their lips met, barely kissing her back. It was as if he'd never kissed anyone before. Starling pulled away, giving a toothy grin, pleased to have finally stunned Solas speechless. Her grin turned to a smirk as she turned away from him. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could take a breath she felt a firm grip on her wrist as he pulled her to him. And then, he was on her, pressing her body to his as his mouth met hers again. She felt their magics embracing as well, and heard a song as his mouth opened into hers, his tongue polite but assertive. There was no longer a need to stand on her toes, for he had captured her in his arms, supporting her as he dipped her back slightly.

Starling had heard stories of kisses bringing weakness to one's knees. Though Starling's sister, Wytha, had claimed to have that kind of experience, Starling thought it was a myth; tales told to teach young people of romance. It had never happened to her, ever. Until now. Starling felt a tingling all the way down to the curl of her toes, and her body was weightless. This was neither bashful, nor chaste, nor the shyness of youth, but was instead a kiss of longing and desperation; of need and release. _Where did he learn to kiss like that?!_ After too short a moment, pulled away. He stared at her, his violet eyes bright with something new. He shook his head, as if in complete disbelief, and leaned in again, kissing her hard on her mouth. Starling could not suppress a short hum of satisfaction as their lips met once more. It was all she wanted. All she envisioned herself thinking of. It was wonderful. It was frightening. He broke away again and placed strong hands on both of her arms beneath her shoulders. He squeezed them, firmly, as if afraid she'd fly away.

“We shouldn't, not even here,” he said, his voice breathy; his pupils large, blackening his eyes. She looked around, her brow furrowing in confusion. Haven. The sky. The smell. She had completely forgotten where they were. _The Fade_.

“We shouldn't,” she agreed, her voice too, a breathless whisper. And for a few seconds they exchanged looks. Hers filled with fear and his with trepidation. Starling felt a sharp pain between where her collarbones met. _What am I doing?_ Before they both knew it, they found themselves in each others arms again; lips meeting, learning. She heard his breath intake sharply with a quiet hiss when she placed her fingers lightly on the back of his neck, and he found she liked it when he softly bit her lip.

“Is this real?” she whispered between kisses, her eyes closed and seeing sparks. She felt him smile against her mouth, and then his lips traced their way along her jawline to her earlobe, his hands running along her back. Her eyes fluttered open.

“That's a matter of debate,” he whispered, his voice hot in her ear. “Probably best discussed when we...” She felt a strange pulling in her chest, as if she was about to... _Oh no, not again_.

“Wake up,” she heard him whisper. And she felt the sensation of traveling. She opened her eyes and found herself in bed. He had lifted her out of the dream. Still tingling and dizzy from the kiss, Starling extricated herself from bed. The sky was gray with the anticipation of the sun. It was all she could do to keep herself from running out onto her balcony and shouting with happiness. The fear of the consequences of her actions lingered in the back of her mind, but she pushed them aside. _I will enjoy this moment. No matter what comes next._


End file.
